Dusk
by exb756
Summary: Continuation of Whispers. Autumn settles upon Connaughtsshire as war drags on. The war weary plot against each other and struggle to stand against an inevitable invasion of undead. Matt, Sora and Leon all face their own problems as winter sets in and new threats emerge to challenge them ever further. Rated T for strong violence, language, blood/gore and sexual themes.
1. A Return to Old Arms

**Hello readers! After a hiatus of nearly a year, I have returned with the continuation of the story of **_**Whispers**_**, this being a direct sequel to the events of Whispers. I know that I promised this a long time ago, but I've had neither time nor good ideas for quite a while, and have been struggling to make good progress. I have several chapters done now, and have plotted out the entire storyline and character development, so there will not be a long wait after this - however, do expect about a week or two between each chapter. **

**After Whispers, I want to refine my work more and erase as many plot holes, weak diction, grammatical errors and issues as I can. I want to fix choppy story flow and tweak characters to be more likeable as well as realistic. I want my descriptions to be vivid, my vocabulary to expand, and my plot to feel fresh and interesting. I want readers to enjoy, and thus I'm going to be sacrificing a lot of time to provide better quality. This, of course, doesn't mean perfection, so constructive criticism is **_**highly **_**recommended. Don't just tell me the story is good; tell me **_**why **_**it's good, what stands out to you, and why you like it. And vice versa, don't just tell me the story is bad; tell me why you dislike it, what needs work, and what could be changed. I intend to listen.**

**So I suppose, without further ado, here we go. This will pick up right after Whispers**__**ends, and will continue multiple story arcs as well as start several new ones, and quite soon put an end to a few here and there. I regret the great amount of time I kept any interested readers waiting, so I hope this makes up for that. Please leave a review if you have anything to say, and as always, enjoy! **

Cold was his environment, and merciless the air around him. He stepped out of his chamber, reborn, and wailed.

The stones under his feet burned his mortal flesh, so cold they were; in the Void, heat and life were nonexistent, distant memories of a world far above. There was only darkness and silence, the kind of world his master craved.

Defeated by a child? No, not quite a child...a man, but a young man at that. A fool he had been, an earth-born, a youngling who should've been struck down with great ease. Where had he failed? What had he done wrong? Somewhere, somehow, he had made a mistake, and now he would regret that for as long as he was a step behind.

"You disappoint."

The voice of his master echoed throughout the stronghold halls, reverberating off the leering statues and cold bricks and thundering in his ears. The Enderborn was tempted to beg forgiveness, but remained silent, naked before the harsh judgment of his leader.

"I expected you to deal with it," his master continued, his voice omnipresent but his form hidden. The diamond was ahead, writhing with purple effervescence, containing nothing but pure sentience within.

"He tricked me. I was outnumbered and-"

"You underestimated him. He was a man, yes, but a powerful man. You could have foreseen it," his master continued, interrupting him rather abruptly.

"He had allies. A traitor, too, among them. He...he fought dirty, too," the Enderborn explained, knowing his hole was only growing deeper. He knew he had to go _back_. There had to be something else he could do.

"And you do not?" the voice taunted. "You fight dirty and fight wicked, and have used numerous means of dark magic in your battles. You failed to understand your opponent, and he got the better of you. I expected _more_."

The words stung like a slap to the face. If his master had arms, surely it _would _have been a literal slap to the face. Confined within his shimmering prison, however, his only weapons were powerful words and his vast array of intermediaries.

"He is not necessarily powerful, but he is tenacious and his strength is impressive for a youth of his age," the diamond continued. The Enderborn, ever hesitant, began creeping towards it, grimacing with every step. The bricks seared his feet, but he paid little heed to them; mortal pain was only a jot in his long, interminable cycle of death and rebirth.

"I can go back. I can fix this," the Enderborn promised, glancing furtively towards the shadowy niches between each column. The long hallway of the stronghold was supported by towering pillars on each side, between which lay shadow, and even darker things. The stone figures watched him, waiting for a moment of weakness, a moment he knew must never come.

"I have already planned this out," his master spoke, his voice becoming colder and tangibly more calculating. "I have _been _planning. Weeks, now."

"I was never told-"

"You did not _need _to be told," his master interrupted again, and the Enderborn decided it would be wise to remain silent. He did so, bowing his head as he arrived at the foot of the diamond's great pedestal, positioned flawlessly in the center of its small rectangular chamber at the head of the obsidian dais.

"I have been working. Positioning. Finding new friends and old, and placing them where I need them. There is another plan...we have another chance," his master spoke.

"An-another chance? But...it's gone, they took it, they destroyed it. Gone forever. The whispers cease," the Enderborn argued, speaking up despite himself. His master audibly snorted, inwardly sneering at his pawn.

"We have greater weapons, just waiting to be assembled. It is no easy task, but we already have half of what we need. The Nether provides us with our materials, and our capstones lay at rest, buried in forgotten places in the earth. _Skulls_, skulls are what we need. Ancient ones, at that, and more powerful than any weapon we have wielded yet. We need only seize them to construct our Withers, something I should've done in the first place."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" the Enderborn asked, feeling his tongue slipping out of awe. "This should've been...our first plan. These Withers, if they are as powerful as you say..."

"It should have. It was a failure on my part." The voice sounded only slightly fazed by the recent defeat, acknowledged a mistake but anticipating future success. "But we cannot let that hold us back. The war must continue. We must expand. Three fronts, three. No longer one, nor even two. _Three_."

"I cannot run three fronts," the Enderborn argued, knowing it was in vain. "There is no way, it's not possible…"

"You lack faith, in yourself and me," his master scolded him, sounding more frustrated now. "You are not alone in this endeavour. You forget...friends old and new? You are not alone."

"Are you certain there are others? Do you trust them?" the Enderborn asked tenuously.

"They are just as trustworthy and powerful as you, but you have command over them. They await your bidding, and are ready to act. You must give the word, though." So much power vested in him...how could he even respond to that? Rebirth was always a painful experience, yet he felt reinvigorated, so _alive_, despite the cold crushing him.

"I am ready. Send me back. There can be no waiting," the Enderborn answered. That had to be pleasing.

"Do not be too hasty. We cannot afford to make mistakes with this, and the enemy already has a hint of what we're on to. Be crafty and clever, and strike hard," his master said.

"I will not fail this time. There is much work to be done, but I am ready to do it," the Enderborn replied, eager now. Eager to return and burn everyone who opposed him. His voice sounded very determined, even to him. He wondered if anyone else was listening besides his master, but as he turned back the hall was completely empty.

Nothing but shadow and cold, like the world at dusk.

VVVVV

He had played the waiting game for a while. Even made his move. And now, he felt like he was stuck.

Dom the mercenary man had been nothing but a pawn. Even Konstantin Raam, as prominent as he was, was a pawn, perhaps a pinch more if his efforts paid off. In a giant game of chess, there were too many pawns who fancied themselves queens, and stretched themselves thin in bids to take more than they could swallow. In the end they would all be devoured, every piece but the king.

And who the king was, well...that was up for grabs. For now the CEO of Standardized Energy Inc., as impeccably dressed and well-coiffed as ever, would content himself with being a knight, or perhaps a bishop. There could be no true king until all the other pieces had been wiped away, at least that's how he saw it.

Walking through the clean, sterile halls of SE's headquarters in the heart of the metropolis of Terra Nova, he felt like a giant among ants, walking through this concrete and tile labyrinth of his own design. Standardized Energy, utilizing coal, oil, gas, tar sands, and uranium, had become the energy giant of the world, the largest energy company on the planet and the provider of electricity to close to three billion souls. Wielding its own PMCs, SE had established dominance over wild lands and primitive tribes in order to obtain resources; building its own Navy, they had cemented their control of the mighty seas. Through bribery and coercion, gifts and intimidation, they had lorded over tribes, clans, city-states, and nations across the globe, extracting trillions of barrels of oil and natural gas from the remote, wild corners of the three continents. And yet this was only the beginning, the beginning of many things.

The future was something different. He could see it, but not yet grasp it; he wasn't quite there yet.

"Mail today?" he asked Miles, his secretary, as he strode confidently into his office space. Overlooking the vast cityscape of Terra Nova, his office was the beating heart of his company, the nexus of the entire operation. Meticulously painted and lavishly decorated, it was the center of his stronghold, his place of comfort.

"Quite a bit, sir," the diligent secretary replied, scanning his computer screen. "Plenty of email, but two letters. One of them-"

"Tax forms, yes. The Senate never tires of trying to bleed me dry," the CEO mused, removing his jacket and tie. In his office, he was free to relax and breathe a little; it was _his_ personal space, after all.

"Er...yes, one of them is," Miles continued after the interruption. "The other is from Konstantin Raam."

That bit took him off guard. He laid his jacket upon his chair, turned on his heels, and swooped down on the stark white envelope sitting forlornly on Miles' desk, demanding attention. The tiny black fist with its jagged outline was stamped on the corner, indicating Raam's position.

"The Black Watch has been a storied part of history. Their fist has been synonymous with order and fear for centuries, even before the Disaster," the CEO said, opening the missive.

"Of course, sir," Miles replied dryly, his attention fixated on business at hand. The amount of emails he had to sort through was mountainous; even with the spam filter working at full throttle, hundreds came to his attention from all over the world.

"Raam is part of an elite group. I do not believe he realizes that. He still thinks himself a mercenary man, a brute hiring himself out to the highest bidder. Little does he realize that he sleeps in my palm." He was talking mostly to himself, of course; Miles was paying little attention. He was paid to do his job effectively, not engage in small talk.

He read it to himself, scanning the words cautiously, praying for good news. Raam's successes had been proliferous, but he had not reached his goal yet; with luck, given the prowess and power of his ally, Raam would be there within a few weeks' time.

"Give me the news," he ordered Miles, combing the next paragraph for any salient details. So far it was just a recap of previous events, nothing particularly interesting.

"AIMS militants conducted a suicide bombing in Mul, ninety dead. Cyterra'sa is already up in arms," Miles reported quickly.

"Cay's getting bloodier and bloodier. I expect a war soon," the CEO commented.

"The Nalii fleet is sailing out to confront Malluthea, apparently," Miles said a few seconds later, scanning the headlines intently. "What do you think?"

"Medieval barbarians. Let them fight, as long as our colony remains untouched. They have no clue what's really worth fighting over," he scoffed, reaching the final paragraph of the letter.

"Seems like there's been major fighting in Connaughtsshire, too. By the looks of it-"

"The army from Ais Kleisardathos won, yes. It was on the news ticker today, if only briefly. Only because the server has become such a big event as of late," he replied, brushing the event off. Minor rubbish, nothing important; so what if a few thousand barbarians and earthmen died in a distant, pointless war? So long as Raam reached Delphos, he had little to worry about.

Then he reached the end of the paragraph. That was what he had been waiting for. His eyes lit up as the words leapt out at him:

_Bombers made their initial sally over target today. Multiple buildings destroyed, fire damage large, casualties most likely in the hundreds. Pilot reports ongoing battle b/w allied and enemy forces. Results unknown, casualty count unknown, likely in favor of ally. Planes had no malfunction or operational error. Fuel cells all positive. No fuel cell overheating detected. Aesar groups ready to be shipped out, give them the go ahead. Everything here will continue according to plan._

_-K.R. Vive, Servire, Morere_

He wadded up the missive with a sense of satisfaction and dashed it into the wastebin, repeating the words in his head.

"What did he say, sir?" Miles asked, inquisitive.

"Everything went according to plan. We've got a god damn green light," he replied, feeling smug. "I need you to grab an envelope and a slip of paper."

"Writing back?"

"I'm giving him the go ahead. Ship the bombers to the Cay, push to Delphos. With luck, everything will fall into place," he replied, watching the secretary intently as he began jotting down the letter. It would take a bit to get to Raam, but he could wait.

For now, everything was looking golden. Dusk was turning into dawn.

VVVVV

It was, in a sense, some small miracle.

The sight of two hostile armies was never completely appreciable, but the fact that they had chosen to fight _each other _first gave Sir Lyonel Cormac some small comfort. It meant that one of them would be devastated, and the other weakened.

Arrayed in formation on the plains before the Ditch, which were littered with rusted metal, armor and bones from the year's previous battle, the two armies squared off and began exchanging missile fire, not five miles from the gatehouse. Reinhardt and Kleisardathan, about fifty thousand each, had both marched towards the Ditch with the intent of besieging and forcing the surrender of the mighty fortress, thereby securing the northwestern corner of the province. However, neither had expected to encounter the other, and Sir Lyonel considered himself incredibly lucky that they had decided to engage instead of work together.

"They will fight hard. Both will be decimated," Lord Tanser observed, standing upon the parapets beside his second-in-command. Lyonel, absorbed by the shifting masses of tiny shapes on the horizon, grunted but did not answer.

"Are our defenses prepared?" Tanser asked a little while later, wiping phlegm from his nose.

"Everything we can do. It will not hold them if they want to get in," Lyonel replied.

"I won't yield easy," Tanser promised.

"I'm not sure you'll have to fight at all. Depends on how this goes," Lyonel said. The frontlines of both forces were now engaging, solid walls of pikemen marching towards each other while absorbing wave after wave of arrows and ballista bolts. The Kleisardathan hoplites, secure in their rigid phalanxes, had the clear advantage over the levy pikemen of their enemy, but nobody had secured victory quite yet.

The Reinhardt side lacked boars, but they had siege engines with them-mangonels, ballistae, and dreadful scorpions that fired armor-piercing bolts at the thick clusters of enemy hoplites. It was clear that the phalanxes were taking casualties from missile fire, but they had yet to waver.

When the two sides engaged, however, it quickly became clear that the Kleisardathans, despite the enemy artillery, had the upper hand. Even with gaps in their ranks they threw the enemy pikemen back, breaking their line within a few minutes after a din of clashing steel. Parts of the Reinhardt reserve began to break after that; most of them were likely conscripted peasants, Lyonel noted, forced to pick up spears and mauls and fight in a land they knew little about. They would hardly be able to fight off robbers or city criminals with their gear and training, much less stand before the onslaught of a well-trained foreign army. Within another ten minutes the rest of the Reinhardt force was beating a hasty retreat, packing up and fleeing as Kleisardathan cavalry swept in to sweep up the wounded and slow.

Within another ten minutes, the Reinhardt forces had pulled off the battlefield, abandoning half of their siege engines behind. Already Kleisardathan runners, trampling the corpses and equipment of their foe, were rushing forward to torch the artillery pieces that had been abandoned, rubbing salt in a fresh wound. Erik Tanser's face, which had been tranquil and motionless before, writhed as the smell of burning wood and pitch wafted into the gatehouse, driven north by the wind.

"What's your plan?" Lyonel asked, leaning over so that he could whisper directly into his superior's ear.

"Wait," came the reply. Lyonel, feeling his muscles tense up, watched and waited as ordered.

The Kleisardathan soldiers swarmed upon the field for a good hour, distributing supplies, tending to their wounded, finishing off enemy stragglers and reforming their lines. Lyonel watched anxiously, his finger idly tapping the hilt of his blade. If they _were _making a move on the stronghold, they were taking their good time about it. He was growing impatient, but he dared not question Erik's orders; as long as Tanser remained still, so would he.

"They're moving," Lyonel pointed out after another good ten minutes, his legs growing numb after standing at the parapets for a good two hours without moving.

"They are," Tanser acknowledged. His face was nothing but contemplative; clearly, he was not concerned.

"What's your plan?" Lyonel asked again, more anxious this time.  
"Nothing," Tanser replied.

"Nothing at all? You aren't going to react?"

"They're moving away from us," Tanser pointed out, and Lyonel followed his gaze as he looked upon the reserve of the Kleisardathan force. The reserve was indeed shifting south, moving after the Reinhardt forces; not in pursuit, either. They appeared to be marching away from the Ditch, and over the next half hour both men observed the gargantuan Kleisardathan force slowly, surely drifting off to the southeast, marching away from the bloody battlefield. By the time the sun was setting, all that was left behind was carnage and wreckage, and not a single man stood at the gates of the Ditch.

"Unbelievable," Lyonel said, wiping his nose. "We dodged a bullet."

"Maybe," Tanser replied. "I don't understand why, but we should not let our guard down. It may very well be part of their ploy."

"They took everything away," Lyonel argued. "You think this is a trick or something?"

"It's possible. I'm not going to brush it off as coincidence. Guard is doubled on the wall until noon tomorrow," Tanser ordered.

"There's nobody out there, my Lord," Lyonel continued. Had he been a second later, he would've been able to correct his mistake; the sight of about two dozen mounted figures streaming across the plains to the east made him flush with embarrassment.

"I believe that you have just been proven wrong," Tanser said, smirking. "How many?"

"I count at least twenty, maybe more," Lyonel replied, squinting.

"I don't believe they're enemy," Tanser said, watching the riders approach. "And if they are, well, we can act at least somewhat hospitable. Let's go down and greet our guests, shall we?"

VVVVV

They had dismounted and waited the moment they saw the flanking guard of the Kleisardathan army approach.

The foreigners came from the east, marching in wide, deep phalanxes with their baggage train and camp followers escorted by small, V-shaped formations of scout horsemen. The flanking guard existed only to protect supplies and baggage from raiders, but they could easily overrun Leon's tiny escort force if they caught sight of him.

So he hid, with the rest of his soldiers, and watched. The horses were either lashed to trees or held steady by their riders, and the men made every effort to conceal themselves within the tiny grove in the center of the vast plains of the Green Rush, hiding from two enemies.

Concealed within the undergrowth of the grove, Leon and Darius observed the battle commence, squatting down amongst the leaves and bushes to keep their profile low. It was unlikely that they would be discovered by _anybody_, but neither men were about to risk their safety, not now.

_So close_, Leon thought. So close to home...yet right now, so far away.

The two factions engaged and the din of battle consumed the party, muffling any other sounds temporarily. It did not last long, no more than half an hour, but Leon could see that both sides had taken casualties, judging by the immense amount of bodies left on the field after the Reinhardt forces, defeated, retreated south, leaving their siege weaponry behind.

"They will storm the city," Darius warned, watching the Kleisardathan force reform. "It's what they're here for."

"They may send terms first," Leon said.  
"You heard the reports. Every tavern we bought from, reports of scorched earth and destruction from the east. They're dead-set on wasting as much as they can," Darius argued, shifting his position to get a better view. The gatehouse, the only legitimate access point to the Ditch, was just barely visible from their hiding place; the two gray concentric towers stood sentry over the vast sea of sawgrass, austere as ever.

"They won't find a warm welcome here," Leon mused dryly.

"They won't need one. All that siege equipment the westerners left? It's all theirs," Darius pointed out.

But to the surprise of both, the Kleisardathans began to torch the weaponry their enemy left behind, simultaneously reforming their lines and finishing off any wounded they came across. Thick, swarthy columns of smoke rose from the burning contraptions, and the phalanxes began to march southwest, reforming and filling any gaps in their lines left by casualties. Concealed within their isolated copse, the riders were only able to watch in awe as the white-cloaked column of hoplites, thousands in number, marched past them and to the southwest, hardly in pursuit of their defeated enemy.

"I don't know," Leon said before Darius could say a word. "I'm not sure what they're doing."

"They don't mean to attack?" the captain asked.

"Clearly, otherwise they wouldn't be marching the main bulk of their army away. The Xonos has something else in mind," Leon explained, cautiously watching the river of spearmen flow past.

"I don't believe it," Darius said.

"It may be our only chance. I say we break as soon as the rearguard is beyond that hill," Leon advised, pointing to a relatively mundane mound of earth on the horizon.

"It may be hours," Darius warned.

"I can wait. I will not risk it," Leon told him, determined. They had come too far to get themselves spotted and killed now; too close to home to fuck it up.

And so they waited; it was a good hour and a half, at least, before the last remnant of the enemy force faded into the horizon, disappearing into the amber sea of the late afternoon sunset. When the rearguard had all but disappeared into the sky, the group broke for it.

Horses were mounted in a flash, riders geared up, and the party dashed across the Green Rush, hastening for the gate towers. They crossed the width of the battlefield, trampling corpses and leaping over broken siege machines as they raced for home. Leon felt his stomach tighten and his heart beat ever faster as they came closer; behind every hill could be a Kleisardathan scouting party, waiting to catch any stragglers returning to the field of battle. But nobody attempted to accost them; by the time they reached the familiar cobblestone road and the great gates of the city entrance, the towers were already buzzing with activity, and the doors were already parting for their lord and master.

"My Lord," Erik Tanser greeted them breathlessly, a wide smile spreading on his face. He fell to one knee, bowing his head sharply, and the entourage gathering around them did the same, paying their respects. A gaggle of activity formed as soldiers, trainers, stable hands and captains gathered around the gate to greet their liege.

"We have much to take care of," Leon spoke to Tanser as the latter rose. Stablehands attended to the horses and squires took care of armor and gear as the gates closed and the great oaken bars fell into place, sealing the entrance from the inside.

"Nobody has entered or left the city without express permission," Tanser explained as he led Leon through the entry hall and towards the city proper. "Trade has all but died, farmers have sought shelter within the city, and we send only a few scouts out. There's no need to keep them open."

"I agree," Leon said. He had little else to say to that; he was relieved Tanser had made such a decision, rather than opt to keep the gates open. Some may call it paranoia, but Leon would call it caution. Decades of rule had taught him that in times of trouble, excess discretion was better than outright neglect.

The city, though damaged by war, remained alive, though it lacked its usual vibrancy. Throngs of people sold their wares in the markets, conversed in open-air bazaars and establishments, and went about their daily errands, somewhat muted as they were. Crowds of miners, returning from a long work day in the mines and tunnels a mile below, were clustering into the bars to drink and go over the day's events. A few caravans, leading their mules laden with goods and supplies, were stationed at the First Level hostel, sitting around blazing fires and sharing stories over dinner.

And then there were the refugees.

The wooden platforms were like a cancer upon the stone city, jutting out over the menacing abyss. Tenaciously supported by rickety scaffolding and rope, the platforms held thousands of refugees living in squalorous tents and squat wooden shacks, packed together in rudimentary housing like sardines in a tin. Built into the fifth and sixth levels, the platforms were separated from the main city and the staircases leading down to their levels were guarded by at least a dozen soldiers each, with archers manning watchtowers from above. Leon could only imagine the smell emanating from those filthy clusters of desperate exiles; isolated within the industrial zones, they received significantly less fresh air than the levels above them.

"Fewer than expected, but still a large number. Thousands," Tanser said when interrogated on the subject.

"Are they all counted?" Leon asked.

"Didn't have the personnel for that," Tanser said. "We're stretched thin, my Lord. Disease is becoming a problem, we lost quite a few soldiers back in the spring and there's far too many refugees."

"I understand." A necessary evil. He could live with that. Inheriting all of Tanser's problems would not be easy, but it was his duty after all.

Three staircases and one bridge later, he was almost home. A few people had gathered on the streets ahead of him, cheering his arrival and celebrating, but their numbers were small. Many people simply watched him as his column, escorted by Tanser's guard, passed their homes and businesses. There was no atmosphere of hostility, but Leon could feel their anxiety, and see the fear in their eyes.

"The city is quiet," he commented when they were near to the Main Hall.

"It has been for a while. People are nervous, they want to know what happens next," Tanser said. People watched from their windows as the party passed, their eyes following Leon as he rode. A few people shouted his name, but most of the observers were silent. They carried on with their daily chores while fixing their eyes upon him.

"I wish I knew," Leon said.

"There's a lot you're going to have to deal with, my Lord. We're stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the war is really just beginning," Tanser said.

"I know what we're dealing with. Beyond Thellden and Reinhardt, that is," Leon said. Both men knew what was being referred to.

"I've heard plenty, but there's little verification. Apparently Lord James Kleiner is holding out east," Tanser reported. They passed the last few houses, leaving the anxious eyes of the watchers behind. Leon felt a surge of relief as he entered what he considered to be home; the stone walls were unyielding and cold to the touch, but this _was _home. Leon finally felt secure, ensconced within his earthen fortress.

"I thought he died?" Darius said, finally speaking up.

"Apparently not, and he's got the great bridge at Milltown locked down. I've heard this from many sources, so I'm apt to believe it," Tanser said.

"What about Cymander?" Leon asked. Darius Cymander was no ally of his, really, but any living human _should_ be counted as a friend when the dead were walking the earth.

"Nothing from him. He's either dead or he's cut his city off from the world," Tanser said.

"Not a bad move," Darius quipped. "In times like these…"

"In a few months we're going to be in a desperate position, my Lord," Tanser said.

"I'm more optimistic about it," Leon replied. The three men walked on while the guard, halting in the middle of the hall, saluted and turned back around to return to their barracks.

"I've thought over it for a while. Our stocks can only last for so long, and what if we come under siege?" Tanser asked.

"You know I'm not above negotiating terms, or even surrendering. Survival is more important than victory, sometimes," Leon replied firmly.

"I was not considering surrender," Tanser stated, clenching his jaw. They moved into the conference room, home of the ever-so-familiar discussion table, and each took a seat.

"You should. It will save you a lot of trouble and perhaps your head," Leon said frankly.

"What do you make of Antar?" Tanser asked, shifting position to get comfortable.

"Antar? Not a bad guy. Good leader. Potential ally, I should think," Leon replied.

"Potential ally? He's an invader, my-"

"He's not the real enemy, Erik," Leon warned, his voice becoming cold. "You know who the _real _enemy is. If the person lives and breathes, he could be our friend. When the dead walk, any man can be part of the confederacy of the living. This is the mindset you need to have."

"What of Thellden, then?" Tanser asked, changing the subject hastily.

"Thellden...may be negotiated with," Leon decided, pondering the notion briefly.

"Impossible," Tanser said.

"No, not impossible. But highly unlikely, I will admit that," Leon acknowledged. "Shandra Thell is out for blood and power."

"Do you think Antar will face her?" Darius inquired.

"After he recovers from his defeat today, I should think so," Tanser judged.

"I'm inclined to agree," Leon said. "Thellden is a much larger threat than the rogue Xonos. He is stranded in enemy territory, abandoned by home and without a base. A swift and well-planned attack, even by a smaller force, can destroy him. Thellden, on the other hand, has a large power base, a vast treasury, and a devoted soldier corps," he explained.

"They will move soon," Tanser said.

"Not yet. I don't know what Shandra Thell is planning, but I've seen her act. She's heartless and capable of treachery, and she's cunning. A dangerous enemy," Leon said.

"What are you thinking?" Darius asked.

"Nothing important, at the moment. Thinking I need hot food, and my own bed," Leon decided, fixing his mussed hair. "I need a good night's sleep."

"We all do," Darius agreed, rubbing his eyes.

"Have dinner and amenities arranged please, Erik. Tomorrow I have things to take care of. I need to talk to people," Leon said.

"Who? What needs to be arranged?" Tanser asked, rising.

"Big people. Big men. I need Herobrine first, and then I need to leave. Again," Leon said, noting the look of concerns on both mens' faces.

"Where would you be going?" Darius asked, his voice low. Leon was silent for a moment, wondering if they needed to know. They didn't _have _to know...but given how much he trusted both men, he decided it was better to share. He needed confidants.

"Stockholm. There's business to be done."

Big business.

VVVVV

The true Xonos watched his enemy fall back in disarray, and then turned to pick up the pieces of the battlefield.

As of late, he always signed documents and orders with "Xonos Aleithes", or the "True Xonos". The usurper would never receive the title peacefully while Mallistron was still alive; he would either have to submit to the power of the Aleithes, or he would have to kill the latter and all of his army.

Wherever his kinsmen were, they were aware of his presence. And they were out to get him.

The Aleithes watched as the siege engines of Stanislaus Antar, abandoned on the sweeping plains of the Green Rush, went up in flames and collapsed into ash and charcoal. The bodies of the enemy he would leave for crows and maggots; the bodies of his own men, of course, he would burn. It would be unethical to leave their corpses to rot.

Over the next hour, the battlefield was cleared and abandoned, all proper tasks being taken care of. A massive pyre consumed the Kleisardathan bodies, all four thousand of them, and the thousands of Reinhardt levies were left on the field, the wildlife already attending to their lifeless carcasses. After supplies were repacked and every wagon was readied, the army began to move southeast, leaving the grim specter of death behind.

"Close to four thousand, we didn't get an accurate count. Another seven thousand wounded, a fair number of those won't survive the night," his aide reported as they marched.

"Too many," the Xonos said.

"I am sorry, Xonos-"

"It is not necessary to apologize. Victory is victory." That wasn't necessarily true, but he wasn't interested in arguing the merits of victory. Today had been exhausting, and he had something to contemplate.

Too many casualties. Too many questions.

"Why are we not pursuing?" one of the captains had asked earlier, demanding an answer.

"We have lost thousands, and may lose hundreds more to injuries. I will not risk it," the Xonos had declared firmly. The pyre had only just been lit but he already smelled the thick, nausea-inducing smoke.

"That has not stopped us before," another captain pointed out, his demeanor less bellicose than his comrade's.

"It will stop us now. We move away from the field, to recover and regroup and plan our next move," the Xonos said.

"The enemy is defeated and disorganized! We can divide them and shred them!" the first captain insisted, his hands clenching into fists. "We've dealt a stinging blow! Think of how much more we could deal them!"

"We will not be in pursuit. They are already getting away," the Xonos said, raising his hand towards the south. The Reinhardt army had since disappeared into the horizon, beating a hasty retreat directly south.

"Cavalry, sir!"  
"The companion cavalry is ready to hunt them down if you deem it necessary, Xonos," a cavalry commander spoke, adding his words to the debate.

"I will not," the Xonos declared, growing impatient. "We must move on. There is nothing for us here. More blood is unnecessary."

"What about the city? Are you going to move on without besieging it?" the first captain asked, and several of the others murmured their assent. They wanted a fight, a better fight, and the Xonos hadn't come out to the Ditch for nothing. His original intent had been to besiege and capture the fortress, and use it as a new base, but now...now the letters had changed everything.

"We will not be. Defenses are too strong, and we don't have the supplies for a protracted siege," the Xonos said. Both were true; the Ditch would be difficult to break, and a siege would drain all that he had, which wasn't much to start with. A few men nodded in assent, but others became more belligerent.

"That is what we are here for," the first captain grunted, baring his teeth angrily.

"Where will we go now?" another asked, his eyes narrowing at his commander. The Xonos felt anxiety from them more than hostility, but he knew that many among them would prefer an expected fight than an unexpected, if not more sensible, flight.

"This is madness!" someone declared hastily, and his comrades quickly hushed him.  
"It's the exact opposite," the Xonos replied, deciding not to call out the aggressive declarator. "We cannot hold a siege, that much is clear."

"We came out here to take this goddamn city. You intend to just walk away?" the first captain challenged.

"I intend to ride away, honor and life intact," the Xonos said. "We are going south. That is the final word on the matter, or there will be consequences." He raised his voice for the last part, and clenched his own fists to ensure that his point was clear. After that, they dispersed, accepting the decision on the matter. Some of them were certainly unhappy about it, but as long as they followed their orders they would not be troubled by him.

That had been about an hour ago. Now they were on the march, just as he had ordered.

"The letters, sir. What are they?" his aide asked. He was the only other person who knew; as the Xonos' personal attendant, he had seen both of them. They had been enveloped differently, and had different insignias stamped on the papers; two very different missives, two very different senders.

"Very important," the Xonos muttered.

"Who are they from?" his aide asked.

"When we decamp, you will see them. Wait until then," the Xonos said. Nothing more was inquired about.

They decamped when the sun set and the army slumbered on the plains, with double the normal number of sentries posted in case Reinhardt parties snuck in for night ambushes.

The Xonos' tent, always in the middle of the camp, was relatively quiet that night. The doors were closed and the hoplons outside denied any visitors entrance, unless they had an emergency. The only men inside were the Xonos himself, and his loyal aide.

"One from Thellden, one from Ais Kleisardathos," he said, pulling the two missives out from their folder.

"A letter from home?"

"In a sense," the Xonos said. "It's from the current Xonos, Aleithes." Hardly the Quieros he might claim to be. He always tried to differentiate.

"Where is he now?" the aide asked.

"Still on the shore, presumably. He is slow to act, and too cautious. He is afraid of the undead, and refuses to move without..._other _support." The Xonos Aleithes knew only a little about what sort of artifacts the Archon was seeking. He'd heard the rumors, about the skulls buried in the deep places of the earth, but it was hard to believe. He had seen the skeletons with his own eyes, but this was something entirely different.

"What do they ask?"

"Allow me to read," the Xonos said, pulling the letters out.

The first was from Thellden, containing the stamped insignia of High Lord Keldon Thell, noble leader of the city and its army. In short, it promised a quarter of the land in Connaughtsshire province should the Xonos sell his services to Thellden, and provide his army for their operations. After reading it he scoffed and set it aside, pondering the terms established by Shandra Thell-the _true _leader of the city, he knew.

The second, of course, was from the Xonos Aleithes, the betrayer. It hurt more to read this one; the language in it, professional as it was, was insulting and belittling. The fact that it came from home made everything worse.

"Forgiving every transgression?" his aide repeated.

"Every one. I will be relieved of my debts and be made a free citizen, but I do not intend to relinquish my command for that," the Xonos said, throwing the second letter down.

"I didn't think you would," his aide said.

"He's trying to buy me out by promising me freedom if I submit. I find this difficult to believe."

"I don't particularly like the terms provided by either," his aide commented.

"I've decided that I _have _to make a choice," the Xonos said, pacing the tent now. "The question is, which?"

"You are pondering the...other Xonos' option, too?" his aide asked hesitantly.

"I will not rule it out. It will have to do if Thellden falls through...I must make a decision, though," Mallistron declared.

"What will you do for now?"

"Continue marching south," he decided, making for the door. "I have a gut feeling about what I must do. But I have to go south to do it."

He poked his head out only briefly, for a whiff of fresh air. He needed a little, just a little, to clear his head. He had an idea, oh yes, and he had an inkling of what he was going to do. But first, he had to move south.

With luck, his dusk would turn into a new dawn quickly. He needed luck, and sleep.


	2. Autumn's First Chill

**Hello readers! I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter, or at least were entertained. Chapters are going to be consistently long, greater than 5k words normally, so be prepared for a lot of reading - there's going to be a lot of content, and a fair few character arcs continued and/or started anew. Reviews, as always, are very welcome, as is constructive criticism. Please enjoy!**

Carl Manneh had to look impeccable for the cameras. Five years ago, when Markus had passed and the simulation was still an experiment, his job had simply been to run the company, attend countless meetings and help develop the video game, as simple as it was. Now, everything had exploded, and some days he wondered how it had ended up coming to _this_.

Billions of dollars had been poured into the simulation ever since Microsoft and Lockheed Martin had started investing in Mojang, and now Hewlett-Packard and Apple were expressing interest in throwing money (reportedly five _billion _each) at Mojang to help them refine their technology further. It was quite mind-boggling when Carl managed to step back and scrutinize his company with the scrying eye of a CEO; not even _he _fully understood the technology they were marketing and working with. Markus Persson had taken plenty of secrets to his untimely grave, unfortunately.

"How many are out there?" Carl asked, adjusting his tie into the mirror. Lydia Winters, ever the devoted PR representative, had stepped into the conference room briefly to ask for the assembly to be patient for just another minute.

"About sixty, maybe seventy. BBC, RT and al-Jazeera have cameras up," Lydia reported, adjusting her own clothing and ensuring that her hair was in perfect order.

"The whole world is watching," Carl joked, smiling wistfully at her as he stepped away from the mirror.

"A decent portion of it, at least," she replied, humoring him.

"What's our status right now?" he asked, checking his watch.

"We're go. Just waiting for the word," she said.

"Do it. I want it running before the conf ends," Carl called to her as they both left the room, heading in different directions. She made her way into the heart of the offices, and he stepped out onto the platform to face the media.

The photographers snapped their token pictures, the cameras focused in on him, a flurry of questions were hurled immediately, and the lights erupted into life as he stepped out onto the stage and took his place at the podium. Within a few seconds, silence was at hand as Carl loudly cleared his throat.

"The past several days have seen us at Mojang working hard to restore service to our simulation. Rest assured that, as I speak, we have our simulation back up and running," Carl began, knowing that another flurry of questions would follow. The avalanche came, but he ignored every single one of them, and waited for silence to fall again.

"The deaths of four of our employees is an incredible tragedy that we here at Mojang will not forget anytime soon," he continued, feeling sweat bead on his brow. "However, we cannot mourn them forever. The shooting was tragic, yes, but we all must move on as a team, and already have plans established for the future. We are setting the simulation back up as I speak and, with full control established over it once more, intend to ensure that any issues inside are fixed properly as quickly as possible."

Another flurry of questions came, but many of them were the same question. 

"What about people still inside? Are they able to return home? And will they be allowed to stay?"

"Anyone who is inside now will be able to leave freely once more, provided they have purchased the ability to do so," Carl replied. He knew that the question of permanence vs. temporary had always been a touchy issue, and he avoided going further into it. He could discuss that at a later, less pressing date. "Anyone who wishes to stay while we work will be allowed to do so. At some risk, of course, from things within our simulation."

"What sort of risk?" someone in the audience asked.

"There have been...hostilities, within the simulation," Carl explained, tripping over his own words momentarily as he did.

"Define hostilities!" someone shouted, and the same question was echoed by a few others. More pictures were snapped, and Carl was reminded that the video cameras were aimed at him, recording his every word.

"Infighting between different groups of people. One must remember that our simulation, despite being marketed as an entertainment product, is very much like the world we inhabit, and there is a risk of injury or death while utilizing our product...of course, it's not _real_…"

There was another flurry of questions, no doubt many of them pertaining to death, life, and bloodshed. _The media thrives off of struggle and conflict_. Few of them, if any, knew about the conflicts that had been going on inside Mojang's creation. For now, they did not need to know.

"I will repeat, though, that we at Mojang have taken up the reins again and have the situation under control," Carl continued, ignoring the barrage of queries. "We will be working to stabilize our product and our technicians will be upgrading it to ensure future issues can be managed quickly. That is all." He concluded and walked off stage, ignorant to the questions being hurled at him. Already attendants were ushering the reporters out and shutting the spotlights down, ending the brief press conference. He didn't bother looking back; he continued right into the dressing room. "Too many questions, Lydia, things they don't really _need_ to know…" he said as he entered, intending to take a break as soon as possible.

"He arrived on his own, sir," she responded. "Came as soon as it opened up, actually. Wants to speak with you." It took Carl a moment to realize they were not alone in the room; someone else had joined them.

The man dressed in chainmail and regal crimson looked entirely out of place amidst the clothing racks and polyester articles of the dressing room. Carl might have mistaken him for a cosplayer, or perhaps a Renaissance Faire actor who had arrived at the wrong location; but he knew this man. He was no joke.

"Leon," Carl said, feeling his stomach tighten.

"Came as soon as I could. We need to talk," Leon said, straightening up. "I would appreciate some coffee, if you could…"

"Lydia," Carl ordered, smacking his dry lips. Lydia left wordlessly, her pink hair streaming behind her as she took off to prepare the beverage. As soon as she was out, Carl led Leon down to his office and shut the door behind him.

"Finally making use of your ability, are we?" Carl asked, sitting down in his chair. Leon took his own seat, directly across from his companion.

"I have never had to come here. Never needed to speak to you. But I needed to this time," Leon said.

"What brings you?" Carl asked, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair, as if anticipating a pleasant conversation. The street outside was clogged with news vans and vehicles, all preparing to depart after their disappointing conference.

"You know very well. We share a problem, you and I," Leon said, looking significantly less relaxed than Carl.

"I know, I know. I don't know how _bad _it is, though…" Carl said.

"Worse than you can imagine," Leon warned him, gritting his teeth. "It's too _alive_, Carl. Fueled by its own will and resolve to live and grow, and now it _thinks_. You've let it come to life, and now it recognizes you, and every user inside of it, as a threat."

"I don't know how that's possible. I understand, but-"

"There are many things Markus told neither of us," Leon said. "I was but a pawn of his, another puppet for his machinations. He spoke to me, but he withheld so much."

"I know only some of what he made. It was his creation, and when he died, much of its inner workings died with him. That doesn't help us now," Carl said.

"He created it to _be _alive," Leon explained, sounding very frustrated. "He designed it this way. But he didn't anticipate it to change, not like this. What I'm telling you is that your creation has become self aware, and it feels threatened. It's _scared_."

"And it's fighting back?" Carl posited.

"Precisely," Leon agreed. "In more than one way. I'm afraid of what it's going to do next, because I don't know what it's going to do next. I don't even know what form it takes, to be honest."

"You've been working with Herobrine, correct?" Carl asked.

"As much as possible. His power is limited, though, but so is the simulation's. If it were omnipotent, it would have already destroyed everyone inside," Leon said.

"It's clearly not, otherwise things would be much worse. But this is still a major threat…"

"It needs to be reined in. Controlled, in one way or another, or a lot of people inside are going to die," Leon cautioned him.

"Does it pose a threat to our world? Or, well, _my _world?" Carl asked. Leon's eyes narrowed briefly, as if he took the slightest of offenses to that distinction.

"I'm sorry...I care about your world, of course, it's just-"

"Not that I know of. You have to remember that I don't understand this much better than you do. My enemy is unknown and for now I can only guess at what its next move will be," Leon said, visibly tensing.

"I hope for both our sakes that your guess is good," Carl exclaimed, exhaling deeply. There was a moment of silence between the two as Lydia brought in the coffee and then left as quickly as she came, smiling gaily at them. Neither smiled back.

"If Markus were still here-"

"Markus killed himself," Carl said. "Well, not literally…"

"I know what you mean," Leon said.

"He tampered with something he could not control. His most brilliant idea was his own demise," Carl mused.

"As it is with many things," Leon replied dryly, sipping his coffee.

"We still run Minecraft, you know. We're still updating it, and doing things with it. The game, you know?" Carl changed subject.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Leon asked, squinting.

"I just figured...it would be nice to point out. It's pretty much a child's wonderland, even though the simulation is much bigger. There's this guy who does videos of it, his name is-"

"Carl," Leon spoke pointedly.

"I'm sorry."

"Carl, Connaughtsshire is at war. Law and order has ceased to exist. The enemy is hunting something, and I can only begin to grasp at what it is, but I know for sure it's a powerful weapon. Something they can use to destroy, and destroy a lot," Leon said in no uncertain terms.

"What are you thinking?" Carl inquired.

"I'm thinking that a lot of people are going to die no matter what we do. We just have to try and prevent too many from dying," Leon said bluntly.

"If _any_ of this conversation gets out, there's going to be a massive PR disaster for Mojang. Hell, most people still think the simulation is a kid's game, just like the original. They don't know-"

"People will soon know. They'll come back with tales of war and disease and destruction, come back with PTSD and trauma and memories of awful events. Such is life," Leon said.

"It cannot happen," Carl groaned, wincing.

"Think about that later. It's not our top priority. Our top priority is preventing this from getting worse. _Much _worse," Leon said.

"It will end up being a disaster one way or another, goddamnit," Carl swore.

"I will do what I can, I can promise that," Leon said, standing up as soon as he downed the rest of the coffee.

"How long will it take?" Carl asked, watching him depart.

"Months, probably. Perhaps a year or two. I do not know, it's too hard to estimate," Leon said, opening the door. Carl knew there was no point in having him stay longer; his point had come across, and already a week or two had passed within the Simulation.

"You must keep in touch with me," Carl called as Leon began walking down the hall, passing Tobias on the way.

"I promise I will." Leon called back, turning once more.

"Leon-"

"You have work to do. So do I. It's alive, Carl, and we have to kill it," he said, without turning around. Then he turned into the most innocuous door in the hallway, shut it behind him, and disappeared. Back to his world.

Carl would remain in his, for now. He preferred Earth, to be honest, and if what Leon said was true the simulation was _not_ the best place to be right now.

VVVVV

September was drawing to a close, and with it summer. The slate gray sky was an ominous harbinger of the dark winter to come, and the first frost of the year had accrued upon the grass of the Green Rush, painting it light gray and coating the abandoned skeletons of the month's battle. A chill wind swept across the plains and ripped dying leaves from sleeping trees, and time spent outside was spent without comfort.

Encased within the stone confines of the earth and protected from the gusting winds outside, the conference room in the Third Level hall was warm enough that regular clothing would suffice. A fire had been set in the hearth, and there was no need for cloaks or woolen clothing once the flames were burning steadfastly.

Sir Lyonel, Lord Tanser, Lord Carpenter, Duke Thorjun of North Driftmist, and Archlibrarian Kearsage were all present. Herobrine, too, attended the meeting, but he sat apart from everyone else, distant and isolated. The chill didn't appear to bother him at all; he wore his normal clothing, the same plain shirt and pants he always wore, although he had opted to put on some sort of leather cap this time around. Leon had always thought he was a perplexing sort of character, but at the same time quite invaluable.

"Lord Gardner sends you his regards," Thorjun spoke as Leon, bedecked in finery befitting of his station, took his seat at the head of the grand table.

"I hope he has kept well?" Leon asked.

"Managed. The trouble out east has him worried. The city is still recovering, unfortunately," Thorjun said, casting his eyes down a little.

"I thank you for being able to come here. This is a very important meeting and all of you-" Leon glanced around the room at each person, pausing briefly as he did so. "-have a very important role to play in the events to come."

"This means business, it sounds like," Lyonel said.

"How did your visit go?" Tanser asked.

"I did what I could. I know that Carl will take the situation seriously, but he has a lot on his plate. He has to manage public relations," Leon explained.

"Public relations be damned," Tanser swore uncharacteristically. "There is _so _much more at stake here than reputation."

"Not for him, clearly," Leon said. "Carl, however, is not our main concern. He'll do what he must do, and in the end he is in control of the simulation. We have to be his inside men."

"What does that amount to?" Tanser asked.

"It amounts to us being his connection to the inside," Herobrine jumped in, casually joining the conversation. "We have to fight a new war, a different kind of war."

"In essence, yes," Leon agreed. "Our true enemies are no longer human, as we have been used to."

"North Driftmist has faced these enemies before," Thorjun added.

"The Rolfs, yes," Tanser said. "But they are both dead, that does not help us,"

"We have allies out there who know the enemy. James Kleiner still lives, a bastion of resistance for the living," Herobrine pointed out.

"I've heard about Kleiner. The Xonos Mallistron has fought them too, but he is no ally of ours," Tanser said.

"Not with that attitude. We must not refuse him outright-"

"I would not side with any Kleisardathan, even if they were the last living human on the face of the earth," Thorjun spoke angrily, his jaw clenched as he sat upright.

"That is not a productive attitude," Herobrine accused.

"The Kleisardathans murdered my city-men. They slaughtered the Rolfs and their soldiers. How could I forgive that?" Thorjun asked, appalled.

"We're not asking you to forgive such an injustice, only turn a blind eye to it temporarily. The Xonos Mallistron will receive his dues in good time, but as of right now he is living, and we fight the dead. We could use him, no?" Leon asked. Thorjun refused to answer.

"He was on the verge of besieging us, I might remind you," Tanser stepped in. "I would've fought him tooth and nail," he added, a hint of pride coloring his voice.

"As would I," Lyonel agreed, sounding a mite bit proud just as Erik was. "He's a backstabbing cold-blooded murderer, and the fact that he was at our gates only reinforces that."

"Okay, so we don't court the Kleisardathans. Who do we turn to? Reinhardt? Moon's Eye? Surrey?" Leon conceded, putting the matter of the Xonos aside.

"Be it far from me to make a decision, but Reinhardt can be negotiated with, and Surrey put their war aside years ago. Both options are open for us," the Archlibrarian added, speaking only briefly.

"Stanislaus Antar is not an ally, either. He was ready and willing to subjugate us, if the Kleisardathans hadn't arrived," Tanser pointed out, and Lyonel steadfastly agreed, nodding his head profusely.

"This kind of logic is getting us nowhere," Herobrine grumbled. "You must consider-"

"I've considered already! You weren't here, damnit! You were off..._somewhere_, wherever the hell you were, sitting aside and waiting for your moment! You were too _frightened _to join the fight when it was so desperate, weren't you?" Lyonel shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Herobrine. Tanser, ever more placid, was quick to silence his comrade and control him.

"_Lyonel_," Leon rebuked. "Hero has been active. You are not aware."

"I am sorry if you are so misguided, and do not know about my designs," Herobrine said, shrugging Lyonel's accusation off. "I have been working towards the same goal as you, just in different ways. I have been raising my own forces amongst the allies that I trust."

"I apologize," Lyonel excused himself, his face reddening.

"You meant no harm," Herobrine said.

"Hero has been working just as we have. He's playing his part, and we need to play ours," Leon urged them. "For now, I believe we need to consider the Xonos and Antar as potential allies, but also as enemies. We need _communication_."

"You can communicate with the Kleisardathans," Thorjun growled. "I will do no such thing."

"If you are so adamant about this, then you can speak with your northern neighbors," Leon conceded, visibly becoming frustrated.

"Surrey will do nothing," Thorjun dismissed him quickly.

"They must. I'm certain they realize that this enemy threatens them, too," Leon said.

"We've had a few traders from Surrey telling tales of fears up there," Tanser said. "It's certainly not unknown to them."

"The entire world knows now, I'm sure. But that does little good for us; we need _help_," Leon grunted, shaking his head.

"I'm still raising my forces, but once they are prepared I will deploy them as necessary," Herobrine promised, trying to assuage the entire room. "They have power, too. They can match the enemy."

"What makes you so certain?" Lyonel doubted.

Tanser was quick to shut him down this time. "_Lyonel_-"

"It was a valid question," Herobrine intervened, quickly absolving poor Lyonel of any blame. "These are no mortal men. They are beyond nature, things of fire and elemental earth who serve chaos, but not evil. Under my control, they are a formidable weapon."

"How long do you think it will take?" Leon asked.

"Another few months, perhaps. I must have sufficient numbers, and they must know what their goals are," Herobrine expounded.

"We may not have a few months," Tanser warned.

"We do," Leon said. "We can make time, if we must."

"The skulls, too. We cannot forget those," Herobrine reminded him.

"I don't know enough about that but...if I must, I will," Leon acquiesced. "The enemy is...hunting something. Objects to complement and finish an incredibly destructive and ancient weapon, something we can't stop from the inside."

"What do you mean, _from the inside_?" Tanser asked.

"It can only be stopped from outside of the simulation. That is, if the simulation is turned off and powered down, completely rebooted. So for us, it is completely invincible." Leon continued.

"You're joking."

"Unfortunately not. This weapon is not created yet, but the enemy is gunning for that."

"I find it so hard to believe. What _is _it?" Thorjun asked.

"It's...something living, created from something inanimate. Supernatural, and inherently evil," Leon said.

"Nonsense," Thorjun scoffed.

"Considering the enemy we currently face, I find it somewhat believable," Tanser disagreed. "Although...quite far-fetched."

"These entities exist, and half of their building materials are of easy access," Herobrine added. "Our enemy likely already has most of what they need. They only lack _skulls_."

"Skulls?" Tanser asked, his facial expression demanding an explanation.

"Not human skulls. Something entirely different...a little more twisted. Even I'm not quite sure how to describe them, they're just ancient," Hero tried to explain, struggling a little.

"It's part of the weapon," Leon said. "The weapon requires assembly, and the skull is the main part. The skull is the part that is inherently evil and chaotic."

"I've got a few older books about such things. They were called Withers, if I remember correct," Kearsage said.

Leon remembered for certain. He declined to speak anymore about the subject, recalling the close call he had with total apocalypse so many centuries ago. He let Kearsage explain it a bit further until Thorjun refused to argue anymore. The man was thick-headed but not completely ignorant; he knew when a debate was lost.

"Alright, so where are these skulls?" he asked.

"We have a list of locations that we intend to refine, Leon and I," Herobrine said.

"The more ancient a place is, the more likely it is to contain one of these skulls, given how old they are. There are plenty of ancient places on this earth-"

"_Dark _places, too," Thorjun added grimly. "We in Driftmist all know about the Dwer."

"The Dwer is not old enough. It may be malevolent, in of itself, but it is not terribly old," Herobrine corrected him.

"Only a suggestion," Thorjun said.

"We will refine our list. In the meantime, it is crucial for you all to know what's going on. It is also crucial to carry our war on," Herobrine told them.

"We've lost a lot of good people," Tanser said. "We need more noblemen, and more soldiers."

"That can be attended to in due time. For now, I think we need to be dismissed. Reassignment can await," Leon dismissed him.

The members of the council said their farewells and packed up, leaving one by one. Only Leon and Herobrine stayed, just for a few minutes.

"Where are you thinking?" Leon asked once the room was cleared.

"B'aileth, for sure. Perhaps the Manquil. Aergard is a possibility. There are many ancient places in this world, many we don't know about. Dangerous ones, too," Herobrine warned.

"So I've heard. Anywhere else?"

"I will pick up what I can and research while we travel," Herobrine said. "We will be gone for a long time, perhaps a year."

"We don't have a year," Leon argued.

"We have plenty of time. As long as we stay ahead of the enemy-"

"The enemy can teleport, remember? They have that capability," Leon said.

"There are a few places in the world that one cannot teleport into. Their inherent power prevents that. Wherever these skulls are stored may possess that kind of defensive energy. The temple in B'aileth will, for a certainty," Herobrine said.

"You think we're ready?" Leon asked.

"Not yet. Not quite yet," Herobrine said.

"How long do you give it?" Leon continued to pursue.

"Another few weeks. I need to gather more," Herobrine told him. Leon stopped after that. He would learn more later, he knew. For now, he had an idea of what direction they would be going in.

South..._very _far south.

VVVVV

The Ditch had been home for only several weeks, but it had been the best home Matt ever possessed. Seeing the twin towers of the gatehouse was almost enough to make him guffaw out of joy.

"Don't cry now," Sora teased, riding alongside him. Their caravan had been slowed for a few days by ashfall mixed with rain, but they arrived at the Ditch in good time, escorted by Lord Gardner and some of his Driftmist men. Matt's body still ached from his injuries received in Delphos, but he had no lasting ailments.

Besides the link, that is. His moments were brief, but incredibly lucid; for a single second, he could see everything the enemy could. It would vanish as quickly as it came, but it still left him disoriented and terrified. He wondered if the Enderborn knew, or even felt it at all.

"Lord Walker is apparently very eager to see you," Gardner said from the head of the column, a few horses ahead of them. "I received more than a few messengers on the way here inquiring about you."

"Oh, well, I suppose he just hasn't seen me in a while," Matt guessed sheepishly.

"He took a liking to you," joked Sora.

"It sure seems so," Gardner agreed, chuckling. He was a good-natured man, but impetuous. When it had been raining, and the ash had fallen thick, he had waited impatiently in his tent, cursing the weather until it relented enough for him to continue traveling.

They had to wait at the gate briefly as the guard opened the door, but once inside they were not retained or stopped at all. Gardner, leading the column, was given the clear and headed right for the Third Level, descending as soon as the horses were dismounted. Matt's legs, bruised and achy after weeks on horse, wobbled on terra firma as he followed Gardner down the system of ramps leading to the Main Hall.

The city was significantly more suppressed than Matt remembered it; the markets, once thronged with shoppers, were mostly emptied exempting a few people walking the streets, going about their business rather grimly. Even the bars - normally packed and roaring with conversation - were abnormally muted and surprisingly desolate. The city was hardly abandoned, but even out here the effects of war could clearly be felt.

"It's quiet," Matt commented, hoping to strike up conversation.

"Very much so," Erich agreed. The captain had been rather broody ever since the events at Delphos, but he seemed to be cheering up now that home had been reached.

They continued down one last ramp and entered the residential sector of the third level, passing the familiar shops and markets. Vendors were present, but only a few vocally hawked their wares. The rest were relatively silent, and Matt noticed that prices of food had been rising sharply since his departure.

"Lord Walker's been very busy as of late, but I'm sure he'll be right glad to see you again," Gardner promised as they pulled up to the Main Hall.

"I'm sure," Matt agreed, his throat dry. A bit of ash had accumulated in the corners of alleyways and in unswept places, even this far west. There was no escaping the volcano's terrible shadow, at least not anywhere in Connaughtsshire. He could feel it in his throat, too; the itchy, dry feeling of tiny particles scraping against his esophagus had been present for months now. He had almost become used to it, except when he had to swallow hard.

They entered the Main Hall and passed the guard, who brusquely turned aside to allow the visitors entrance. The horses were taken care of by stable boys and the majority of the contingent waited outside, while Gardner, his escort and Matt, Erich and Sora entered, their footsteps echoing off of the high stone walls as they passed the dais and entered the back chambers.

The passages, ever so familiar to Matt, lacked the normal traffic he remembered from his days back before the war really started. Only a few people passed, and there were only two guardsmen standing outside Leon's room, both of them grizzled old men - clearly veterans. They stepped aside and the four of them, Gardner included, entered Leon's chambers.

"...we'll need to find an alternate route, but we can't go by land-"

Leon stopped mid sentence when he noticed his visitors. Herobrine, sitting at the table opposite of him, glanced over and nodded respectfully at all three of them.

"I'll be damned," Leon said, his voice a hushed whisper. "Come here, you."

The situation felt quite surreal initially. Matt's feet moved without his brain's impetus and he rushed to embrace Leon, who returned the favor quite amicably. It was brief, but it felt like an official welcome home. Leon smiled warmly at him and then turned to Sora, doing the same to her.

"I'm quite surprised you're still alive, to be honest," Leon said as he took his seat again. "What is the east like?"

"Barren, abandoned. Ash is very thick. We only saw one living person east of the river," Erich reported, the same thing he had told Gardner.

"As I suspected," Herobrine said. "The dead vastly outnumber the living. Even I dare not go back to my cottage, for fear of what may be living there."

"Where is the other officer I sent with you? Walid?" Leon asked. When a moment of silence followed, he knew the answer.

"I am sorry-"

"His sacrifice kept us going. He did what he had to do," Erich said, grimly recounting his comrade's death. Walid, Matt reflected, had not even received a proper burial rite.

"I am glad that you're safe though. I was very relieved to receive Lord Gardner's missive," said Leon.

"We were lucky to run across them in Delphos. The tribesmen have been trying to secure the city, with little luck. We don't have the manpower to help them, but we've been doing what we can," Gardner said.

"I appreciate your help. Where will you go from here?" Leon asked.

"Back home, I should think. We have a lot to prepare for, no?"

With a set of farewells, the Driftmist nobleman departed, saluting Erich as he left. When he was gone, the guardsmen shut the door behind him, leaving the others in peace.

"You will find promotion awaiting you," Leon said to Erich, saluting him in turn.  
"My Lord, I-"

"Your sacrifices and hard work should not go unrewarded, and I need good officers. Speaking of which…" Leon trailed off momentarily, lost in thought. He returned quick, but Matt sensed something was amiss.

"You two need quarters. I will have Darius see to it, as soon as he returns from the barracks. He'll want to see you both, of course," Leon said.

"I'll be sure to-"

"Erich, go with Herobrine and Sora. He'll take both of you to quarters and make sure you're all set. I intend to host you both here, as my gift to you," Leon ordered, dismissing them quickly. Both began to complain almost immediately, but Herobrine gently ushered them out, promising warm meals as they left. Within seconds, Matt and Leon were the only ones left in the room, the door slamming behind the officer as he was nearly dragged away.

"What's wrong?" Matt asked, sensing a situation.

"I've been thinking. And when I think, you know, I always ponder something important. I lost a lot of good men in Thellden. Slaughtered by treachery, as you know," Leon began.

"I remember." Matt recalled the events vividly, as if they happened only a night ago.

"I have a lot of gaps in my noble structure. Officers and lords, their estates and castles leaderless. That will not do," Leon declared.

"Are you suggesting-"

"You'll be eighteen soon, no?" Leon asked, his sharp eyes focusing on Matt's.

"I will, but-"

"I need this from you, Matt," he asked, his voice now tinted with an edge of desperation.

"I'm not a leader," Matt stated solemnly, shaking his head vigorously.

"No man is born a leader. One must _become_ a leader," Leon said, sprinkling his request with a proverb. "I myself should know that."

"I am _not_ leader material," Matt repeated adamantly, chuckling in spite of himself. "I'm a runaway. Highschool dropout. Stupid, impetuous, porn-addicted teenager."

"You survived things many men have not," Leon pointed out. "You're a survivalist. That counts for a lot more than you might imagine."

"I can't see it happening," Matt said honestly.

"I understand your point of view. I sympathize with you, too...but I'm not really _asking _you to do this," Leon said. "I'm telling you."

"No choice in the matter?" Matt asked.

"Very little. If you can argue impressively, I'd reconsider. But my ranks are depleted and I need good men to hold this alliance together. You're one of those good men," Leon said.

"I'm not even eighteen yet, though-"

"I considered that little problem when I was thinking about this," Leon countered. "You'll be eighteen soon enough, right?"

"Just about two weeks," Matt said, pausing briefly to think the question over in his head.

"Perfect. There you are."

"But I'm not eighteen _yet_," Matt argued, stressing the "yet".

"It doesn't matter," Leon parried his debate. "I can circumvent the rules a little, and nobody will really argue. They all realize the need for landholders and commanders just as well as I do."

"Does anyone else know about this?" Matt asked, conceding the argument to Leon.

"Darius knows, and I intend to tell Erik. Beyond them, I don't see why anyone should know. Well, besides the current, ah, _heir _to your land," Leon said.

"What _heir_?" Matt inquired, feeling his stomach tighten.

"Lord Steadwin, the man whose estates you are taking, left an heir. Avery Steadwin...stout lad, good with a sword, but only fifteen. He cannot qualify if I rule him incompetent," Leon explained.

"And you're doing just that?"

"Well, of course. He's not ready for command," Leon said, grimacing. "God no. He's not...leader material."

"Neither am-"

"I won't hear anymore of it. Unless you have better reasoning than I, you _are _accepting this," Leon snapped, clenching his jaw briefly. His anger was short-lived, but it was enough to silence Matt, who did not quarrel the matter any further. On the contrary, he flushed with embarrassment, and let Leon continue.

"Now, Avery Steadwin is an impetuous and hotheaded boy. He will squabble, and he will argue, but he will not deny any orders," Leon explained, returning to his normal state of tranquility.

"You're putting him under my command?" Matt asked, eyes widening. His stomach, which had been tightening consistently for the past few minutes, was now wrapped in its own Gordian knot.

"Of course," Leon answered, as if it was obvious. "He needs to learn leadership and the tenets of command. I wish that I could teach him...rather, I wish his _father _could still teach him...but you will have to do."

"I-"

"He will inherit the estate, but only at the age of eighteen. Matt, you're going to have to take him under your wing," Leon said.

"What if he disobeys me? I'm worried-"

"He will not deny you outright. He may argue and he will _certainly _disagree with you at some point, but he will never refuse an order. He's been brought up noble," Leon said.

"I'm afraid," Matt managed, unable to say anything more. He found it difficult to concoct the words needed to describe his fear, and two words were all he could manage until he found the rest of his sentence. He was starting to feel nauseous, overwhelmed.

"I understand," Leon acquiesced.

"I mean, I'm not _scared_...but I'm not prepared for this. It's new and it sounds complicated and, well...I was never taught…"

"You've learned some. You will learn much more, but believe me when I say this: _I _think you're ready. If my word means anything to you, that will do some good," Leon reassured him in quite a fatherly manner.

"Thank you," Matt managed to squeak out. He felt like he was going to be sick, just thinking about this.

"You think you're ready?" Leon asked, already knowing the answer.

"Er...kinda, I guess," Matt lied, feigning a mote of confidence.

Leon smiled gently at him. "I need more commitment than that."

"Will I have anybody to help me?" Matt asked.

"God no, you won't be alone," Leon reassured him. "Young Lord Steadwin, as belligerent as he might be, is under your command and is an asset to you. The castle stewards and local help will be there, too, and I'm sending one of my own people down with you."

"Can I…" Matt trailed off quickly, losing his voice as Leon stared him down.

"Can you?"

"Can I bring Sora with me?" Matt managed, wincing as he spoke.

"Of...of course," Leon replied, raising an eyebrow at Matt's strange behavior. "Why couldn't you?"

"I was just asking," Matt stated defensively.

"I think it would be good for her, and for you. As long as you take full responsibility for her care," Leon said, his tone waxing cautionary.

"I would," Matt agreed.

"Matt, you must keep in mind, you're going off on your own now. You're almost an adult, remember? Your parents are far away, and I certainly cannot come to your side if you run into trouble. You've got to take care of yourself," Leon warned, tangibly serious now.

"That's the part that fright-"

"I know, I know. But I promise, you will be able to handle it. I know you," Leon reassured him.

"Do you?" The words came out before Matt knew what he was saying. Leon froze for a moment, unable to reply, and Matt suddenly felt bad for him.

"I think you could use some good rest before you leave. You have a few days," Leon said, ignoring the question and deflecting it quite bluntly.

"I'll be glad to take it," Matt replied quietly.

"Darius will get your quarters set up. You won't be here long, unfortunately, but while you are...well, your visit will hopefully be nice."

Leon smiled gamely at Matt, but the favor was not returned. He understood why and did not pursue the matter any further. He wouldn't be at the Ditch long, anyway; why cause any more trouble?

Leon was not certain when he would see Matt again, anyway. Or if he would even see him alive.

VVVVV

The journey north had been too long for Aeric; so used to being sedentary within the comforts of home, he had rarely been made to venture outside of the walls, much less this far north. Even with Will by his side, he felt some discomfort as the sight of the two guard towers rising in the distance.

"They call it the Ditch. You'll see why soon enough," Will said as they approached.

"I know what it is," retorted Aeric , shifting his position on the horse. The creature bestirred itself to move a little faster, sensing its rider's discomfort.

"You haven't seen it, though," Will said. "Magnificent place."

"I've heard a lot about the refugees. Even down in Fellowton and Claeys there was talk about the Kleisardathans," Aeric said.

"I don't think it's anything to worry about. The stronghold will not fall if they come knocking," Will said, spurring his mount to get it moving. The horses they had rented from the caravan master were not the fastest creatures and had more appetite than they had energy, but it was better than traveling on foot.

Hostilities between Reinhardt and the alliance, while technically existent, seemed to have been shelved for the time being. Nobody in the taverns of Reinhardt territory had spoken ill of the alliance, or of Stanislaus Antar; many of those, even if their towns had been occupied, had appeared quite genial and glad to be under the warding shield of the mighty foreign lord.

In short, the invaders were quite welcome.

The caravan approached the gatehouse, passing by a few ragged-looking refugees shambling towards the city gates, carrying what little possessions they had on their backs or in worn baskets. One of them asked weakly for food, but Aeric had nothing to give the man; he had to pass the refugee without extending any sort of charity.

Whereas the refugees were being allowed into the city without question, besides a paltry passing examination, the caravan was halted and held for nearly half an hour before they were allowed to continue. Something about papers, that was all Aeric knew; he sat on his horse, shivering violently as a sharp wind rolled over the plains and cut through his meagre clothing like a knife.

When the caravan proceeded, so did they. Up until their arrival in the city they figured it would be better to stick with a group; it prevented trouble and ensured food and shelter would be provided. It was also free, technically; the caravan master had asked no questions about the two joining with his force, and had only told them that in case of combat they would be required to draw blades. A fight had never come, thankfully, although Will would've been able to hold his own in such a situation.

"It's a beautiful city," Aeric commented as he turned his head upward, looking at the darkening sky. The Ditch was pretty much a giant crack in the earth; a fissure two hundred feet wide and miles deep, with the city dug into the chalky stone walls. Bridges connected the two sides and great marble ramps allowed access to each level, with water elevators and lifts providing alternate forms of transportation. Having lived amongst the thatch houses and squat, squarish stone buildings of Thellden his entire life, Aeric had never seen anything quite like it.

"It's unique, I'll give it that," Will said.

"How deep does the...drop go?" Aeric asked. The caravan behind them was busy setting horses and gear aside, things Will and Aeric did not have to worry about. They carried their belongings on their backs, with weapons cinched tightly to their hips.

"Oh, hah, nobody knows," Will replied. "If you look down far enough, you'll see...see the light?"

"What is it?" Aeric asked, leaning over the ramp balcony to look down. He could see it, just a faint glimmer of cold blue light very far down, stretching across the entire length of the ravine.

"Supposedly a river of magma at the very bottom. If that gives you an idea about how deep this thing is," Will said.

"_That _deep?" Aeric said, aghast.

"Miles," Will replied, shrugging.

Suddenly Aeric no longer had much desire to lean over the railing. He retracted quickly, feeling his stomach tighten into a knot, and hastily followed Will down the ramp and towards the first bridge.

They stayed on the first level, which appeared to be designed to accommodate travelers and traders from all over the world. Several of the hostels they passed by had appropriated various cultures into their architecture and decoration, and Aeric heard several languages he did not recognize at all while passing by the taverns. Each building had been cut out of the stone, windows and doors included, and all of them had some open air component, such as a dining patio or an outdoor stage.

"Fewer people than I had imagined," Will commented as they walked, searching for the most respectable looking hostel.

Aeric had to agree with him; although people could be seen everywhere, there were far fewer than he had expected. The crowds were relatively thin, music could be heard from only a few locations, and nobody seemed to be in any particularly celebratory mood. The atmosphere felt somewhat oppressive, even in the more crowded areas.

They finally managed to find what looked like a decent place; not too crowded, quiet and tempered, and relatively clean. The food smelled good, too; Aeric could smell the wafting aromas of seasoned chicken and beef stew rising from the kitchen.

Dinner was relatively expensive, despite being quite plain; the chicken was well cooked and the stew was savory, but Aeric had to dish out a hefty load of coins to pay for them, to speak nothing of rooming. Their money supply was limited, and he had just given away about a fifth of what they had left, just for a meal.

"It's not even that good," Will complained as he nibbled quietly at his chicken.

"It's moist and well seasoned. Could be far worse," argued Aeric.

"We just shelled out a lot of copper. We don't have that much," Will said, spitting a piece of chicken skin out.

"It's because of the war." Aeric shook his head.

"Fucking war," Will swore. "I've lost my appetite, anyway."

"We need a plan," Aeric said, switching the topic.

"We need to get out of Connaughtsshire, is what." Will wiped chicken grease off his lips. "We need to go west or north."

"We could try to make our way back to Swampheart. You want to, right?" Aeric asked.

"Anywhere east of here is fucked. It's a non-option," Will muttered. The topic of home was a touchy one and Aeric decided it would be wise to avoid it for now.

"West is Reinhardt-"

"I say we go north, if anything. It will be colder, but safer. There's no war up north, not yet, and no Kleisardathans. I'm particularly interested in avoiding Kleisardathans," Will said.

"Well, all of us are," Aeric agreed, chuckling awkwardly.

"We need to find a way to get north, though," Will said. "And we need to find _where _to go."

"Going north?"

Someone had been listening to their conversation. Both of them turned to their left, where the table across from them, occupied by three rather gruff looking men, had turned to face Will and Aeric. There was a brief moment of silence as both tables contemplated each other.

"It's none of your-"

"We actually are," Aeric interjected, stopping Will's retort in its tracks. The latter fell silent, staring daggers at the other table. "We were hoping to find a caravan or something to travel with. Going alone is...well, undesirable."

"Understandable," one of the strange men spoke up, the most well-trimmed of the group at that. "Sorry for eavesdropping…"

Will muttered something under his breath, but Aeric failed to catch it. He wasn't particularly interested in whatever it was, either. This could be an opportunity.

"It's all good," Aeric assuaged them, smiling warmly. "We do need travel north. Presumably that's where you're going?"

"Aye, North Driftmist and then to Dwerhold. And from there, we're uncertain. It depends," the presumed leader of the group - the well-trimmed man - said.

"Depends on what?" Will interjected, brushing Aeric aside briefly.

"What we find." The leader narrowed his eyes slightly. His shoulders stiffened and his jaw tightened as Will studied him cautiously, suspiciously.

"Do you have space for us?" Aeric asked, feeling tension building.

"Hold on, hold on, what do you mean what you find?" Will asked, ignoring Aeric.

"Whatever opportunities we find, lad," another one of the strangers, his face in his bowl of soup, replied. "We're opportunists. We're looking for money. Food. _Life_," he added.

"Everyone's going west or north to flee the war. We're not any different from anybody else," their leader explained.

"What kind of opportunities, though?" Will continued his interrogation.

"Treasure," one of the men spat.

"We grow weary of questions," their leader interposed, becoming displeased. "We are not thieves or tricksters, I can promise you that." He gave them a warm smile as a token of trust, but his companions watched Will suspiciously as he turned away from them, his lips pursed into a thin frown.

"Your word is not-"

"I trust you," Aeric ensured them, cutting Will off before he could complete his statement. He pulled Will aside quickly, thrusting himself in between the suspicious glances of the strangers and his companion.

"Aeric-"

"You need to stop this. You're too _paranoid_," Aeric hissed, his face inches from Will's.

"And for good reason. You think they won't just murder us and loot our bodies?"

"I for one highly doubt it!" Aeric growled, baring his teeth. Sweat was brimming on his brow and he could feel his cheeks hot with frustration.

"You have too much faith in strangers," Will accused. "You've lived all your life in comfortable seclusion, away from the dangers of the world. I, for one, do not trust this breed of man at all."

"Why would they even try? What do we have that they might want?" Aeric asked.

"They said they're looking for treasure," Will reminded him.

"We're pretty much _paupers_, Will!" Aeric said. "We have no treasure! And because of that, our options are limited! You've got to think."

"I did my thinking," Will said, gritting his teeth.

"And you ought to be less stubborn about it. This could be our _own _opportunity," Aeric whispered, extending his arms. Will was hardly moved.

"I'm not staying here forever, gentlemen," the leader of the table called from across the aisle. "If you're coming with us, we need to know. You're welcome into our party so long as you keep your own sword and follow any orders given to you."

"Will you provide food and shelter?" Aeric asked, turning towards them again. None of them looked particularly genial, but they were hardly hostile. Even the most unkempt of the three could make a good traveling companion, he thought.

"And transportation. Perhaps even lodging, if you're good," the leader replied, smiling a little deviously.

"Things we can't pay for," Aeric said, turning to Will.

"It's not worth it…" He remained staunch, but Aeric could sense the hesitation in his voice. He was considering it, if only because Aeric continued to argue.

"Where else would we go?" Aeric asked, continuing his push.

"Reinhardt. Redwoods. Old Marken. Across the sea..._Earth_, for fuck's sake. _Beyond _Earth, if you will," Will answered, sounding more and more frustrated.

"Will, goddamnit," Aeric swore.

"I have never been to any of those, but they all sound better, really," Will pressed, but he sounded more and more hesitant too.

"And how are you gonna get there?" Aeric asked. "Caravan? What if we need documentation to get into Reinhardt?"

"What if we need documentation to get into Surrey?" Will countered.

"You don't. That's why we're headed that way," the leader spat, irritated now. "Make up your mind."

Aeric knew the Surrey border had always been open; there was not enough manpower in either province to maintain the vast tracts of heath that formed the border between Surrey and Connaughtsshire. Entry was as simple as step over the line, unlike Reinhardt.

"You promise to provide food and shelter?" Will asked testily.

"Aye, and not bad at that," one of them replied. "We hunt our own food when we can, so no stale bread and cheese if possible."

"We'll get you to North Driftmist," the leader said. "Beyond that, we might have to work out a different deal, but we can promise to get you there."

"It's better than nothing. Better than east or south. Or Reinhardt," Aeric added, hoping that he could be the catalyst that finished Will. When the latter's jaw finally relaxed and he sighed, Aeric knew his resistance had collapsed.

"Fine. To North Driftmist, but _no _further until we talk again," Will acquiesced, shaking his head fiercely. "Just...just that."

Aeric was relieved; it was enough. Will was _clearly _unhappy, but he would not speak any further on the subject. He expressed a simple, staunch desire to get to bed, and that Aeric was happy enough to oblige. He had pushed poor Will far enough for one day.

But he went to bed feeling cheerful and airy, knowing that they were headed in what he thought was the right direction. Anywhere away from war, away from _Thellden_...perhaps even a new home? He couldn't wish for that much, not yet, but he'd keep the idea in mind. It was the right direction, after all; he couldn't even begin to imagine what opportunities might lie beyond North Driftmist for him.


	3. Unfamiliar Quarters

**Good morning! Or, well, it's morning as I publish this. I have had two requests for a map to accompany Dusk, and I've actually been working on one in my spare time - it's barebones, and not incredibly decorated, but it should suffice once I finish it. I understand the need for a cartographic aid, given the sheer size of the story's world, so I will be publishing that on my DeviantArt as soon as I can. To those of you who asked for it, thank you for bringing the problem to my attention! I will do what I can to help you out.**

**I also apologize for the long delay for this chapter. I intend to cut down on the time I spend planning out the next one some, and hopefully get it out within a week, tops. **

Stallhart was small, and hardly a castle. The keep, visible from the northern road, was little more than a wooden tower with a few outbuildings, a barracks, lodging and its own well. It had its own wall, encompassed by the main wall that surrounded the town, and a few towers for garrisoning archers in the case of a battle. The town itself was not visible yet, as the keep sat on a hill overlooking it and could be seen from a short distance away.

"It's not much, but it's actually better than a lot of the little keeps in the Rush," Ezra Stellmeier said, grinning as he saw the keep towers rising in the distance. "Welcome to Stallhart."

"I wasn't expecting much, not like a giant castle or anything," Matt said. Ezra Stellmeier rode to his right, and Sora to his left, his escorts to the town. They were followed by two of Sora's own handpicked servants, young ladies who had been trained in housekeeping at the Ditch. Stellmeier was one of Leon's trusted sergeants, and had seen action during the Caullon rebellion before he had settled down in the Ditch and sworn himself to the stronghold's service. He seemed like a genial man, well-humored and kind despite his rather gruff appearance and the scar on his forehead.

"Were you not expecting something this mean?" Stellmeier asked, teasing him.

Matt rushed to defend himself. "No, I'm not complaining or nothing."

"It looks cozy," interjected Sora, studying the town with interest.

"That's one way to put it," Stellmeier said. "I've been here before, if only briefly. It's a little dirty, and hardly the most comfortable place, but it's better than the open ground, or a tent. Walls are pretty sturdy, too."

"Where will we be staying?"asked Sora out of curiosity.

"Lord's and lady's quarters, of course. It's hardly noble, but much nicer than most of the houses," Stellmeier said.

"How many people?" Matt asked.

"Close to five hundred civilians, and about a hundred and fifty combatants. The men I've brought will boost that to two hundred, a number you may very well need."

"You think so?"

"I know so," Stellmeier said. "There's a special dichotomy here, one I'll explain to you once we get there." Matt and Sora exchanged nervous looks when he refused to extrapolate any further, and remained silent for the rest of their journey.

Ten minutes later they had entered the wooden gate of the town and proceeded towards the keep, watched warily by a small crowd of farmers and townsfolk going about their business. The soldiers here were rather motley; in contrast to the soldiers of Ais Kleisardathos or even the Ditch, these appeared downright pitiful. Their armor appeared to be cured leather and thick cloth, a far cry from the chainmail and steel plate of the great armies, and any headgear was limited to a felt cap, a hood or, if lucky, an iron pot helm. Their boots and pants were ragged and worn, and their gloves and gauntlets were torn and rusty. Most of them carried an iron spear and a worn shield, and a few carried rusty axes or weathered crossbows. All in all they were a sorry lot for soldiers.

The people weren't much better, either; most of them were dressed in ragged shawls and moth-eaten cloaks, with dirty shirts and pants. Some didn't even wear shoes; a fair number of them went barefoot, dragging their feet through the mud. A few of them smiled at the convoy as it passed through the center of town; most of them went about their business, heedless of the horsemen. A couple glanced up from their work, blinked sullenly, and returned to their work without a word.

"A bit of a dull place, isn't it?"

Riley Eston, the attache diplomat sent by Leon, rode up alongside Matt as they passed through the town square and into the keep, which was separated from the town but its own gate. She was a fair young woman, slender and tall and proud-looking, but Matt wasn't certain if he could trust her. She seemed like the treacherous type, the opportunist who would seize the first advantage they could get their hands on. He would withhold judgment for now, but he only answered Riley with a token reply, preferring to avoid engaging in heavy conversation with her, out of fear of letting something important slip.

Matt had been very paranoid ever since leaving the Ditch. Even with Sora by his side, he was incredibly nervous about marching out to his new occupation. Living in a castle was one thing; owning it was an entirely different, and far more intimidating, matter. The fact that he had to be the ward of an entire county, and almost a thousand people too, had kept him up at night ever since they had departed. He couldn't trust anybody, either; especially in a time of war, anyone could be the enemy. None of the people who rode with him, especially the important and politically significant, could be completely trusted. The only person he _truly _felt comfortable with was Sora.

"The keep is separate from the rest of the town to prevent it from falling during a siege or assault," Stellmeier explained as they passed into its yard. A few chickens pecked around in the dirt and some soldiers were standing guard at various doors, but otherwise it was deserted.

"What would happen to the town in that case?" Sora asked, out of pure curiosity.

"Well, the lord and his forces would barricade the entrance, and the town, well...would be in enemy hands. Temporarily of course," Stellmeier replied, chuckling nervously. "Anyone left outside the keep would likely meet a rather..._unpleasant_...fate."

Sora blanched and did not ask any other questions. Even to Matt, that seemed a little unnecessarily gruesome. Was it normal, that kind of strategy?

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, of course," Riley said, attempting to lighten the mood.

"I'd prefer it do so, to be honest," someone else interjected. A voice from behind called attention and Matt turned around to see who it was. A lanky brown-haired young man, dressed in plain attire and wearing thick glasses, smiled gaily at him.

"A warmonger in our ranks?" Stellmeier asked, turning his head to see the newcomer.

"Timothy DeVyrs...er, war correspondent," the man introduced himself excitedly, riding up towards Matt and Sora. "That's...kinda how I get my money. Not the most appreciable occupation, no," he admitted.

"A journalist, then?" Matt asked.

"In a sense. I actually live on Earth, but I've come here to document the fighting for Earth media. Apparently it's a fascinating topic for a lot of people," he explained.

"So you're here to stir up trouble?" asked Stellmeier, cocking his head.

"Of course not!" Timothy shook his head furiously. "I don't stir up trouble, I just report on it!"

"That's what all folk like you say. Rubberneckers," Stellmeier mumbled, spitting into the dirt to mark his point. Timothy DeVyrs fell silent as quickly as he had spoken up, and fell back to his place in line. Matt felt some sympathy for him, but didn't _trust_ him, either; his true intentions remained nebulous.

They dismounted and allowed the stable boys to take care of the horses; the entire party proceeded into the keep, led by Matt and Stellmeier.

The keep itself was similar to the rest of the town; dirty, dim, and old. The timbers of the walls were worn (not rotting, but not far from doing so), the windows were dirty and grimy, the floors were tainted with mud and straw, and the air was thick with sulphurous smoke and the smells of humanity mingling with farm animals. A few servants bustled from place to place, dressed in ragged clothing and carrying baskets or pails. None of them paid any heed to the newcomers.

"Barracks has plenty of space for you. Get your men settled in," Stellmeier ordered the sergeant of the soldiers, who barked a few orders and sent his company off packing. Stellmeier led Matt deeper into the castle, with Sora, Timothy, Riley, and a couple others following close behind.

"You were told about Lord Steadwin, presumably?" asked Stellmeier as they ascended a stairwell to the upper floors of the keep.

"Er...I was…" Matt replied, suddenly remembering the young lord.

Avery Steadwin, only fifteen, was technically the liege lord of Stallhart and its surrounding lands. His father - Lord Steadwin - was slain during the slaughter at Thellden, an event Leon was narrowly able to escape. Seeing as he was the heir of the late lord, Avery would technically step into power as long as he was of age; currently, however, he was too young. Back in the Ditch, Leon had made the argument that the older, more experienced Matt would make a better lord until Avery came of age, and could perhaps even stand as an example for the youth. Matt, on the other hand, was hesitant to meet the young Steadwin, certain that the youth would be belligerent and stubborn during their meeting. Stellmeier had explicitly warned him so; in describing his character, comparisons to a bull had come up often.

"He won't be pleased to see you, that's for sure. But once he realizes that you're in command, he'll stand by you. He might just argue about it. A lot of…"

Stellmeier did not finish his sentence and continued leading the group up. Timothy and the other members of the party departed at the second floor, and only Matt, Sora, and Riley were left to continue up to the third floor, the top of the keep. As the diplomatic attaché for Stallhart, Eston was the only one of the party who had an obligation to stay with Matt.

"He'll be in here. He spends a lot of time in the map room," Stellmeier said, leading them to a plain, heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway. Matt prepared for the worst, steeling himself against any possible trouble he may receive. Thrusting the door open, Stellmeier exposed two stewards, as well as the young Avery Steadwin.

"Lord Cook," Avery greeted him, his jaw setting immediately. "It is a pleasure to receive you."

Matt was momentarily taken aback, both at the professional greeting and his tone of voice. Cold as it was, that tone was neither callous nor hostile; perhaps Avery knew his place and knew he had to stand down, albeit unwillingly.

"And it's a pleasure to, ah, be received," Matt replied hastily._ Dumbass. Why'd you say that?_

"Of course." Avery nodded slightly. His eyes locked onto Matt as if they were honing in on a target, and suddenly he felt very nervous. Even at the age of fifteen, Avery Steadwin was bulky and broad-shouldered, with a thick, powerful neck and a sharp jaw. He looked more man than boy, and would certainly be able to beat Matt into submission should such a course of events be required.

"I apologize, I'm new here-"

"Of course you are. I've been told everything already, _Lord Cook_," Avery said, the last two words stinking of subtle malice. Avery was setting the stage for confrontation, just as Matt had been expecting. Any plans for a productive partnership were quickly being destroyed. He shouldn't have said what he did, anyway; he kept saying stupid things that only served as fodder for Avery's belligerent attitude.

"I figured you were," Matt replied, his initially warm demeanor frosting. "You realize now that you will be taking orders from me, correct?"

"I do realize this," Avery said. He said nothing about _following _said orders, which prompted Matt to continue.

"And you are aware that you must follow said orders, correct?"

"I am," Avery stated clearly.

"Then you-"

"Do not presume to treat me like a child," Avery interrupted. "I know my place, even if it is an insulting place to be set in."

Matt was taken aback. He had been thrown into a unique situation and he wasn't sure how to deal with this sort of character. Avery Steadwin crossed his arms, challenging his superior to do something about his insubordinate activity. Realizing Sora and the others were still standing behind him, silently, Matt felt pressed to act aggressively and throw his weight around. But he couldn't bring himself to do that, not yet.

"I apologize," he said, regretting it almost immediately. He could see the anger and confusion on Avery's face, and knew he had made a mistake. Instead of continuing, however, Avery surprised Matt once more, shaking his head and moving for the door.

"If you wish to take your place as lord of Stallhart, then do so. This room now belongs to you. Farewell, Lord Cook," he said, failing to make eye contact with his superior as he left. Riley Eston, looking rather befuddled and uncomfortable, stepped aside as he left, and there was a painful silence for a moment as Matt clenched his fists and began regretting his poor decisions and responses.

"Why'd you let him leave?" Stellmeier asked, looking about as bemused as the poor diplomat was.

"I...didn't know how to stop him," Matt confessed, throwing his hands in the air.  
"You tell him to stop. Simple," Stellmeier said, smirking.

"I didn't have control of the situation," Matt admitted.  
"That much is clear. I warned you, though, he's a bull in human skin," Stellmeier said, chuckling at his own analogy.

"I realized that by now. I apologize for all that-"

"You'll be able to find him later and maybe wrangle him in," said Stellmeier. "At least he didn't outright deny you, that's something,"

"_Something_." Matt wasn't quite inclined to agree entirely.

"We'll get you all set up, for now," Stellmeier said as they left the map room, now empty. The servants filed out after them, choosing to follow Matt instead of Avery; that was some small comfort. It was clear _they _understood who was in charge now.

"How large are our quarters?" Matt inquired as they made their way down the hall.

"Fairly big. They're up here on the top floor, and you've got your own library. With that and the map room together, it's quite a bit for you to study in," Stellmeier said.  
"Where does...Avery stay?" Matt asked, hesitating before he accidentally referred to him as _lord_.

"He has his own luxury barracks on the first floor. He spends a lot of time out at Roanshire and Skagway, I'm told," Stellmeier said.

"Which are?"

"The villages of your fiefdom. Seventy-five villagers each, with twenty soldiers assigned to each. They produce enough food to feed the entire fiefdom, and they produce peat and wood too. You'll have to take good care of both, although Avery is likely to take those matters into hand," Stellmeier explained. Matt quickly found himself frightened of the notion of logistics and economics; it was difficult enough to take command of the military without having to deal with money or administration. He felt his stomach tighten into a ball as Stellmeier delved into details about finances and trade while showing them around their quarters.

"These aren't half bad, Matt," Sora commented, snapping him out of his daydreams. He mumbled something to the affirmative as Stellmeier wrapped up his tour.

"Well, I'll leave you all to it," he said. "We've all got business to get to, and I'll make sure to send Miss Valdez up."

"Who is she?" Sora asked.

"The head of servants. She'll take yours under her wing, and make sure they work hard too. Presumably you've got orders in mind for her?"

"Of...of course." Sora appeared bemused. Stellmeier bid his farewell and left the two of them in their private quarters, leaving the door just barely ajar.

"I did _not _handle Avery well," Matt admitted once the sergeant had gone.

"I would've done worse," said Sora.

"I appreciate you trying to help," Matt said, "but the damage is done."

"You don't know that," Sora said, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and massaging his neck to calm him.

"What'll he think of me now?" Matt argued. "I look weak, and he knows that I buckle easily under pressure. He'll use that to his advantage."

"Sweetheart, I think you're overthinking it," Sora assuaged him, kissing him lightly on his scruffy cheek. "Avery's just a kid. So are _you_," she teased.

"I'm not a kid anymore. Kids don't get castles. Kids don't get to lead _wars_," Matt rebuffed her, steaming. Sora let go as he pushed her away, and he began to pace anxiously.

"I think you could've done far worse," she said, watching him pace.

"I suppose that's true. I just..._need _to be able to communicate better with him. And others. This is new, and honestly, it's-"

"Frightening?" she finished for him.

"Very," he confessed, sighing deeply and sitting down in a nearby chair. "I don't know what I'm going to do." By the look on Sora's face, he could tell that she had little advice to give him; she looked quite helpless, unable to fix his situation and unable to provide any support beyond the emotional kind.

The door flew open and in stepped a stranger. Matt sat up, as if a lightning bolt had rushed through him, and he immediately fixed his eyes on the stranger.

"Pleasure to meet you, my Lord," she greeted him, in a not quite amicable but certainly not hostile tone. She flashed a slight smile at both of them, and curtsied towards Sora. When neither of them spoke, she hesitated before speaking again.

"My...name is Lana Valdez. Your stewardess and head of servants. Sergeant St-"

"Ah, he said he would be sending you up," Sora jumped in when Matt would not speak. "Happy to meet you!"

"Likewise! I hope you are pleased with your quarters so far?" Lana asked, bowing once more before Sora. It was halfhearted, Matt noticed, and she resumed her standing position quickly. Sora appeared uncertain about how to act, so she coughed awkwardly and smiled.

"Very much so! I certainly-"

"Lord Cook, the Sergeant has requested to see you again. I apologize for his immediacy, but he requested you and I had to relay his words. If you would, please?"

Lana Valdez smiled at him and there was something in that smile that made Matt uncomfortable. She was clearly trying to worm her way into him to get _something_; what that something was, he wasn't sure. He didn't trust her at all, even less so than any of the others who had accompanied him. The war correspondent, as foreign as he was, seemed blithe and naive; this woman appeared calculating and cold, even though her demeanor was warm and welcoming. Matt could see it in her eyes, and did not bid her farewell as he left her with Sora.

Matt met Stellmeier back downstairs in the entry hall, the pitiful, smoky little anteroom that he had a feeling he would become _very _familiar with.

One servant was relighting some of the candles held in their sconces, but other than the two of them the room was empty. Stellmeier waited by the door, greeting Matt as he arrived.

"There's someone else I need you to meet. He's a bit of a..._figure_ in Stallhart, so I'm told," Stellmeier said as he opened the main door that admitted them into the keep yard. A few spearmen were drilling over by the barracks, and one of Sora's servant girls was drawing water from the well, but otherwise the yard was abandoned too. The entire town was rather quiet, just like the Ditch had been.

"You said this was urgent," Matt said.

"It sort of is. You need to know him if you're going to rule over this town," Stellmeier explained, leading him down to the keep's gate. "He's a religious figure-"

"Christ," Matt swore.

"No, not Christ, although we got one of those here, too. He's a different kind of pastor, and his flock is far less appealing, at least to me," Stellmeier extrapolated. They went down into the town and Stellmeier led Matt down one of the side alleys, which ended with a rather dismal, squat wooden building with a strange symbol mounted on the roof and unusual words carved into the door.

"Herobrinists," sighed Stellmeier.

"I've met him," Matt said, remembering the tranquil, hospitable man with the white eyes who had sat down to tea with him so long ago. That one night with Rykar had seemed so surreal back then; now, compared to the other events that Matt had experienced, it was positively normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Herobrine was pretty much an acquaintance.

"I know who he is too. Anyone with even remote proximity to Lord Walker knows who he is," Stellmeier explained. "But those who don't either dismiss him as a myth or worship him as a god. These people are the latter." He sounded not at all happy to be anywhere near them.

"It's a temple?"

"That's it. And a fair number of these bumpkins come here to pray, so you might need to meet Mr. Delwin Saythe," Stellmeier said, opening the door slowly.

"Their pastor, yes?"

"In a sense. They call him _corruptor_, as if corruption is something to revere. Hush now, until he meets us," ordered Stellmeier, and the two fell silent as they entered the dingy interior.

It was a small building, holding only four rows of pews and a pitifully small, undecorated speaking podium. Strange carvings decorated the walls, all of them schizophrenic and beleaguering in design, and there was some mess of a sculpture at the far back of the pulpit. The sculpture was clearly molded out of fired clay, but it had no form or shape to it beyond looking remotely human. Two white eyes had been painted on the vague space where a head might be, and Matt realized it was meant to represent Herobrine, despite its lack of figure or any sort of artistic quality.

The building was also empty, and strikingly abandoned; dust had gathered on the pews in most places, and the air was thick with the smell of tallow and mildew. Smoke rose from the pitiful candles burning in their sconces along the walls. The single window on the left side of the building was grimy and coated with dirt, providing very little natural light.

"What the hell is this place?" Matt asked, scrunching his nose to shield against the stink of mold and mildew pervading his nostrils.

"Chaos, is what it is. Saythe can explain it better. You'd be surprised how many people come here. I think he'll be in the back or in the basement, either one. Come," Stellmeier ordered.

He led Matt deeper into the dark building, past the pulpit and into a back hallway that was barely wide enough for them to walk in. A few rooms adjoined the hall, but none of them had doors, and they were all bare except for what appeared to be crude earthen benches and stools.

They found the _corruptor_ in the basement of the temple, scribbling something on parchment. As menacing as his title was, Delwin Saythe was a particularly pleasant man; well-dressed, quite clean, and well-groomed, he looked quite out of place in the dingy, reeking basement.

"Lord Cook," he greeted Matt, smiling as he shook the hands of both men. "I have heard news of you. It's a pleasure to have a liege back again...dear Lord Steadwin, cut down so coldly-"

"Lord Cook has a bit of business with you, Saythe. Let's make it quick," warned Stellmeier. He clearly made no effort to hide his disdain for the man and his practices. Saythe appeared hardly bothered by the sergeant's cold attitude, and happily offered Matt a stool to sit on while they spoke. His office was nothing more than an 8x8 cube cut out of the earth, lit only by a single small candle that did little to dispel the darkness of the basement.

"Many of the people in this region have no religion they pay service to," Saythe explained. "They are _atheist_, as you'd call them. I am proud to serve the people of Stallhart if they wish to come and seek a greater entity to place their faith in." He ignored Stellmeier's snort of disapproval.

"What exactly...do you worship?" Matt asked. "I mean...explain how-"

"It's quite different from most religions, I assure you. I am at least a little knowledgeable about Terran religion...Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, Scientology...but Herobrinism is quite different from all of those. More _archaic_, perhaps."

"In what way?" Matt demanded more.

"All religions have a form they follow, correct? Herobrinism has _no _correct form; we worship chaos and disorder, and at the same time we worship fate and the course of time. All those who pray at this temple believe that every event in life is preordained and that whatever happens, happens, for whatever reason it may," Saythe explained carefully. "For example, what do you think led you here?"

"We led ourselves here," Stellmeier said haughtily, but went ignored.

"Are you saying...that you think that fate led me here?" guessed Matt.

"In a sense. You were guided here by the whims of fate, which decides every action and event in our world. You may leave this very moment, if fate decides that for you. And if you do not leave, well, then fate has ordained that you stay here," Saythe said. He laughed heartily when Matt remained on his stool, mulling the philosophy over.

"See? You stay," Saythe said, smiling gaily at Matt.

"So...you just believe in letting things happen?"

"What will happen, happen. That is chaos, and yet at the same time it is order. In our eyes chaos is correct, the _rightful _state of the Earth," Saythe said.

"It makes no sense." Stellmeier's scoff, once again, was ignored. He left the room after that, finished listening to Saythe's explanations.

"It doesn't work for everybody. Only those who place their faith in fate and the course of time will come to understand," Saythe said, barely batting an eyelash at the sergeant's departure.

"And how does Herobrine fit into this?" asked Matt .

"He is the timeless one, the only one whom time does not affect," Saythe summarized, quite succinctly.

"That is...peculiar." Matt failed to think of anything else to say.

"You do not have to agree with me, for certain," the corruptor chuckled. "I only want you to be enlightened. And that you are. Whether or not you adhere to our believes, that is up to you. But there is much to be learned from our ways, things greater than what you know."

"Can I count on you to be by my side if I need your assistance?" Matt blurted out. He realized how blunt his question was, but he was tired of hearing Saythe speak, and didn't want to dance around the question. The corruptor paused for a moment, taken aback, but recovered surprisingly quickly.

"Of course, my Lord..." he promised. "I serve the town and its people, and by extension it's liege. I cannot guarantee anything, seeing as fate has decided its own course..._but _I will do what I can, should I be called." He placed his hand on his heart as some sort of token gesture.

"That's all I needed to hear," Matt said, pleased with the answer. It was enough, even if most of it had been lip service.

"It was a pleasure speaking to you, then. Perhaps again?" Saythe suggested as Matt rose.

"Perhaps." No promises there. He shook the corruptor's hand and left quite quickly, barely returning the man's smile.

"Lord Cook, remember, if you require any spiritual or theological guidance...look no further than my humble abode," Saythe called after him as he left the dank confines of the basement.

"Of course." Matt didn't intend to, really; why would he?

Saythe hardly seemed dangerous, but he definitely came off as crazy. A little too crazy, maybe. Not someone Matt wanted to be involved with, for sure. He hoped he wouldn't have to deal with the corruptor again later.

VVVVV

The quarters of Stallhart were far from being a mansion, but they were comfortable and warm and relatively clean. As soon as Matt had left, Sora had begun inspecting them along with Lana, ensuring everything was in place and that any dirty spots were marked for cleaning.  
"I maintain a very strict order around here," Lana had proclaimed proudly a few minutes after her arrival.

"Do you now?" asked Sora. Lana had been talking almost non-stop since Matt had left, and she was repeating various points ad nauseam.

"There can be no slacking. Laziness begets more laziness, my mother always used to say, and I cannot allow _any_ laziness, not in my house," she declared, almost haughtily. She was certainly proud of her strict rules; Sora was a little concerned about how vigorously she might enforce them. She was withholding judgment, for now.

"That is true," she said, if only to please her.

"Oh, I'm glad you agree," Lana piped cheerily, smiling as she did. The smile seemed forced and unnatural, like much of her personality traits. "Too many people nowadays slack off and let their standards slide."

_You aren't even that old. How would you know about people "nowadays"? _Sora thought. She grimaced as she stood up and surveyed the quarters once more.

"I think the room looks pretty good," she decided.

"There are some things that stand out. The carpets are filthy, the fireplace needs to be de-ashed, and the books need to be sorted. I need to clean the windows, too, or more appropriately a _servant _needs to clean the windows," Lana said, frowning as she made her list. "You have your own servants, correct?"

"I...yes, I was assigned some-"

"Good, we do need more hands around here. I will set them to their tasks," quipped Lana, already making for the door.

"Er...they are _my _servants," Sora reminded her quickly.

"Oh, of course! That's why they'll be working in your quarters. It seems appropriate." Lana strode out of the room without further ado.

_Control freak_, Sora thought. At least that was her first impression; Sora had been under the belief she would be directing her own servants, and the stewardess would simply be there to assist. Lana Valdez was already taking control and Sora did not particularly like that; her personality, too, was concerning.

_She's not what she seems. She kisses ass well, I'm sure...we'll have to find out_, Sora thought.

Lana returned quite quickly with three servants, including Sora's own, in tow. Sora waited to see what she would say.

"The room is not up to standards, as I told you. Look at this! You can even _see _the dirt, damnit," Lana swore. It was clear that she had been berating them as she had brought them up the stairs.

"It's not that bad-"

"It's not up to _my _standards," Lana snapped. "And it will become so. I want it cleaned, and the fireplace needs to be de-ashed too," she ordered. One of the servants, the one who had not come with Sora, went to her work immediately. The other two girls stood in place, uncertain of what to do.

"N-not all at once," Sora intervened, realizing that Lana's desire for control was taking hold. "We can take our time…"

"I don't wish to do that. I appreciate your concerns, Lady Cook, but I would also appreciate you leaving the housekeeping to me," Lana said, hiding a pinch of disdain behind a layer of false pleasantry.

Sora's servants, Sarah Lancaster and Yu Jin Kim, were waiting in place meekly, silent as Lana barked orders to them. Both Sarah and Yu Jin were the quiet type, soft of speech and rather complacent. Refugees of war, they had been picked up from a homeless shelter and trained in handmaidenry, then handed off to Sora when she required personal servants for Stallhart. Although she did not know either of them too well, she had grown somewhat attached to them and was not comfortable with Lana having complete control over their affairs.

"You two can dust. I want you to get into every corner, too. Your lady demands perfection, or damn near _close _to it-"

"That is untrue," Sora gritted her teeth. Lana turned to her, clearly displeased.

"Pardon me-"

"I do not demand perfection, I only wish for cleanliness. You do not need to do that much work," said Sora, speaking to both the stewardess and her servants. The latter looked positively confused, torn between two different superiors. When Lana would not budge, Sora knew she had to continue.  
"As _lady _of the house-"

"Fine, fine, as you say," Lana acquiesced, admitting defeat. "Do as she says. But _I _am the one who keeps this place in working order, do not forget that." She left in a huff, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. Sora knew she was not taking this lightly, for whatever reason. Her personality was definitely not appealing at all. One of the ladies, Yu Jin, cleared her throat to speak up.

"Lady Valdez said-"

"Nevermind what she said. I have the last word here," Sora rebuked her quickly.

"Apologies, my lady." Yu Jin bowed her head meekly.

"You don't need to apologize," Sora promised, becoming angry at Lana. "You have done nothing wrong." She placed a gentle hand on Yu Jin's shoulder as a little show of support. It resonated with her and she smiled at Sora, wordlessly thanking her.

"Attend to what matters you must. I will speak to Lan-_Lady Valdez_," Sora said, leaving her quarters to the servants. She knew where to find the stewardess.

She had recovered somewhat but she was still steaming. As stewardess, she was unable to directly circumvent any of Sora's rules or regulations, but she would certainly try to get her way through craft and deceit.

"I have run this household a certain way for an entire decade, Lady Cook," Lana complained as soon as Sora had broached the topic to her. "Lord Steadwin loved me and thought that I was running everything perfectly."

"I do not think that," said Sora . That much should be quite obvious.

"Tell me your grievances, then," Lana huffed, placing her hands on her hips. A clear sign of defiance; Sora did not appreciate it.

"Your methods are harsh-"

"Kindness begets laziness, as well!" declared Lana. "Do you not realize that?"

"I think that's a gross generalization. You think that being strict and harsh all the time will produce perfect results?" Sora asked.

"Given time, yes. If they have no leeway, they will not try to get out of their work for fear of punishment. And thus, they work harder. Does it not make sense?" Lana inquired.

"Not to me," Sora sneered, shaking her head.

"It made sense to my lord-"

"And he is dead," said Sora. That make Lana halt for a minute. "That doesn't matter anymore. You need to change," Sora told her.

"Do I now?" Lana grew more belligerent. Sora knew she had to force Lana to stand down, or appear weak before a potential opponent.

"You _will_. Or Lord Cook will hear about this. If you aren't moved by me, perhaps you'll be moved by him," Sora said. That was the ace, her trump card. Lana's will broke after that; her hands fell to her sides, and the fight left her eyes. At least temporarily.

"I will try and be gentler. So long as you allow me to continue handling household chores and manage inventories, I acquiesce to you," Lana said. There was not a single hint of sincerity in her sentence, but Sora was not apt to press any further. She didn't want to beget conflict on her first night at Stallhart; enough had been done already. She needed friends, not enemies.

"Thank you. That is all I ask," Sora promised. Lana said nothing more after that, and Sora was prompted to leave, tired of trying to wrangle with the stewardess. In due time, perhaps, she would become more friendly.

There was no real reason to trust her, though; not yet.

She would report this to Matt and hopefully he would be able to do something about it. If anybody had power over Stallhart, it was him now. Or at least she _hoped_ it was him.

She had to tell Matt that evening; hopefully he wouldn't be long in coming. After the servants had cleaned her quarters and departed, Sora reposed on the bed and dug into one of the few books on the shelves, a tome about flora and fauna of the region. It was incredibly boring, but it was better than waiting for some amount of time for him to return.

Before dark he was back, rather tired and glum but happy to see Sora again. They embraced, kissed, and then Sora decided to talk to him. She had waited long enough.

"She's a potential problem," Sora warned after she finished telling Matt about Lana's behavior.

"I think you're over exaggerating, to be honest," Matt replied, his voice haggard and weary.

"You weren't here, though. You didn't say the way she treated-"

"She's just a stewardess. You can order her to stand you, _you _are the one in charge," Matt reminded her gently.

"I suppose so," she reluctantly agreed. It wasn't that easy, of course, not to her.

"If you _really _need me to step in, I can do so. But I'm going to have a lot on my plate," Matt said, stripping his garments off and depositing them in a ragged pile by the foot of the bed. Only two of the six candles in the room burned as the sun began to set on the horizon, leaving the room rather dim.

"I just need to watch her. I'm worried about her," Sora said.

"Like I said, you're the one in charge. What's the worst that she can do? If you wanna fire her, fire her," Matt said dismissively.

"I don't think that's the solution," Sora scoffed.

"Maybe. Maybe not," he said. It was clear he didn't want to pursue the matter any further, so she gave up. Both of them needed sleep, anyway.

Goodnights were said, candles were extinguished, and darkness swallowed the unfamiliar quarters. They slept restlessly, but they were finally at a place they could perhaps call home.

VVVVV

Milltown had grown quieter and quieter as the population slowly withered away. The current estimates were five hundred soldiers and less than 5,000 people left; each day, about a dozen perished from skirmishes, disease, malnutrition, or accidents. Some left, too, although most had nowhere to go.

The situation had always been desperate, but there appeared to be no upside. Despite holding onto the city and pushing the invaders back, the defending force was now more worse off thanks to the creeping cold and urgently low supplies. It would perhaps be another month, maybe two, before they could no longer hold onto Milltown, and that was barring another enemy assault.

Most of the council members had died or fled, leaving James Kleiner and his captains in charge of the city. Sergeants Shen and the engineer Cobb had been elevated to the positions of field commander, and one of the district tavern keepers was now running economic and social affairs. They were a paltry bunch, and hardly educated in administrative affairs, but it was better than nothing. They had nobody else equipped for the task.

Looking out upon the barren, ashen wasteland from the walls, Kleiner felt a morbid sense of terminus and realized there was no longer any living thing on the other side of the river. The pigmen didn't really _live_; they were monsters, half-dead creatures of twisted origin. Even the great beasts were not truly alive, powered by some dark force. He was constantly reminded that he, and his forces, were the only bastion standing between the living and the dead. Milltown was the fortress, and it was under siege.

"Any engagements today?" he asked Shen, who was following him as he walked the parapets back to the tower to return to the ground.

"Two," Shen reported. "Some rabids attacked a scouting party on this side, but they were easily taken care of. No casualties."

Rabids were human, but barely; driven insane either by desperation or by hunger, or diseased out of their mind, they were only dangerous in large groups. A few would come up to the city walls and bang on them from time to time, screaming and howling, but they would leave quickly and would not prove to be more trouble. It was uncommon for rabids to actually be a threat, given that not many remained.

"What else?"

"Some skeletons on the east bank," Shen said. "We lost one of our foragers to an arrow but several of the enemy were dispatched. Hand to hand, too." He sounded almost proud of that fact.

"Acceptable loss," Kleiner acquiesced. He had seen far worse in the past few months. The total wipe of an entire squad of thirty sentries had been the worst incident since the actual attack on the city. He couldn't afford casualties of that magnitude.

"Food levels are low, of course-"

"I'm well aware of that. Is the situation urgent?" Kleiner asked, interrupting Shen.

"Well, no…"

"Then we should be alright. For now." He knew they needed food soon, and plenty of it. It didn't have to be fancy or tasteful; only edible. What they had was of poor quality, and dwindling fast.

The city was deserted as they walked through it. Exiting the tower, they stepped out onto an ash-dusted street dotted with pieces of scattered debris, as well as a few bones. Most residential neighborhoods had been abandoned, either because they were uninhabitable after the siege or cholera had ravaged them. There was one person setting up their vegetable stand on the street, but it was a pitiful little place; nothing but a few cabbages, a dirty tomato and some shriveled carrots were on display. The man sat on a wooden crate and counted some coins in his hand, counting the same stack of coppers over and over again. He would have no business that day.

They passed by one of the markets and found only six people examining wares within, and only a dozen vendors keeping their shops open. It was a desolate place, where ash was piling in the corners and on top of the tents, and little merchandise could be found. Kleiner felt a stab of pain as he realized how many livelihoods had been simply destroyed by this conflict, and realized time was running out for Milltown. He couldn't hold this fortress for long; the vegetable vendor would run out of produce, the grain cellars would run dry, and there would be no more roots, tubers or abandoned supply caches to scavenge. That would be judgment day.

But it hadn't come yet. Not yet. He still had time.

"Find Cobb for me. I need him," Kleiner ordered Shen as they entered the council plaza. Only two guards stood on duty outside the council chambers, which had become the default center of government for Milltown. One of the walls was collapsing after bombardment by enemy siege engines, and most windows had been shattered, but the building still stood. It was some sort of castle for Kleiner to conduct his grim affairs from.

Part of the roof was missing, too; on the west side of the chambers, the roof and most of the wall had collapsed after a bomb had hit it directly, doing irreparable damage. Dim sunlight filtered through the dusty interior of the near-abandoned chambers, illuminating the unlit, menacing corridors that branched off into the depths of the structure. Only the storerooms and some administrative halls were being used; the rest of the chambers were abandoned, left to disrepair and ruin. Only the great brazier at the centre of the entry chamber was lit daily, and the other candles were ignored unless necessary.

The bench where the council members had once sat was empty and gathering dust; no longer in use, it was simply a relic of somewhat better times. Only one councilman remained, and he was on the edge of death. The others had fled or died; three from disease, and one slain during the siege. They were naught but a memory now.

Kleiner proceeded to his office, which had once been used as a storage area, and sat down to look over the maps and reports provided to him. The Illyushechka were the linchpin holding the city together; time after time they managed to repulse enemy attacks without casualties, using their light magic against the dark forces of his opponent. It was a match made out of a miracle. Without them, victory would have been impossible. And now they formed the captains of his scouting parties, the ones who engaged the enemy when foraging and foraying. Every report on his desk praised their abilities in combat and regarded them as saviors of the city; Kleiner read through all of them and felt some vague sense of hope, something he rarely felt.

Cobb came a few minutes after he finished filing through his papers, followed by Badger. Malnutrition and war had taken its toll on the old sergeant, but he still smiled at Kleiner as he entered, showing rotting, browned teeth as he did so. He was a prickly old bastard, but loyal and steadfast and, best of all, dependable.

Badger grinned again as he motioned Cobb into the office. "Delivered him right to yer door, m'lord."

"Thank you, Badger," said Kleiner.

"I'll be go-"

"Not yet. Stay until we're finished. It will not be long," Kleiner promised. Badger fell silent and waited outside the door patiently.

"I need the western wall repaired. You think you can do that for me?" Kleiner asked.

"That's an awful big task, m'lord…"

"How _awful _big?" Kleiner pursed his lips. Only an incredibly expensive cost would deter him from this.

"The materials we need for that just don't exist...unless we salvage some buildings and maybe a part of the existing wall. We ain't got enough timber or rope to put it together, beggin' m'lord's pardon," said Cobb, twiddling his thumbs as he laid out the grim details.

"Mhm. Alright, then we will do that," Kleiner said, ignoring the potential hazards of such a project.

"That's a mighty undertaking-"

"I will give my own men to you," Kleiner said.

"What's the reasoning behind that, beg m'lord's pardon?" Cobb asked, biting his thumb now. He had a habit of playing with his fingers when he was bored or anxious, Kleiner had noticed. It was an interesting personality tick.

"We have to guard and fortify the area down by the mills heavily since the wall was brought down," Kleiner explained. "If we can bring it back up we won't need nearly as many sentries and we can free up a fair amount of manpower." He pulled a few sheaves of paper out of his drawers and showed them to Cobb, outlining his own calculations and logic.

"At least, that was my reasoning," Kleiner added as Cobb briefly studied the writings.

"That is fair, m'lord, but it will not be a quick endeavour," Cobb warned.

"How long do you give it?" Kleiner asked.

"About two months...I can rush it a little," Cobb said, briefly calculating in his head.

"Do it, then," Kleiner told him, shoving the sheaves back into the desk.

"It may be dangerous-"

"_Do it_." Kleiner had no patience for any sort of hazards or obstacles. He wanted this _done_. He knew it had to be.

"Of...of course, m'lord. I'll draft plans…"

"Be quick about it. I'll ensure that my men are available for you should you require their services," Kleiner told him. Cobb had nothing else to say and bowed, saluting him as he rose. He muttered under his breath about "hazardous" and "foolhardy" while hurrying out of the office. Kleiner would pay him no mind; he was a smart man, and loyal as well. He would do as commanded, and would succeed at it for certain. Kleiner sat up and brought his hands around to massage his lower back, feeling pain gnawing away at his hips as he rose.

"I'm growing old, Badger," he complained, wincing as he worked out the muscle knots.

"You tell me that, m'lord, as if I were a spring chicken," chuckled Badger, stepping fully into his liege's office.

"Damn you," Kleiner grinned, "how are you still alive?"

Badger shrugged. "Good luck, I s'pose." He returned the grin, albeit with fewer teeth.

"You old bastard," Kleiner continued to swear at him.

"I managed."

"I'm surprised we're all still alive, to be frank," admitted Kleiner.

"Thanks to you, m'lord."

"And all of you. Every single last one of you fuckers who remain here. You do realize that none of us are going to leave this city alive, right?" Kleiner asked, shifting the conversation. There was an immediate moment of silence after that. Kleiner noticed Badger's facade sink, and his jaw set as he considered the question.

"I am aware of that. Have been for some time," Badger finally admitted after a few seconds. He grimaced afterwards, and bowed his head a bit.

"The grim truth, eh?" Kleiner asked.

"The grimmest. I'd like to say I've seen worse in my long life, but...well…"

"Heh. I want to say that too. Damn it all," Kleiner swore, feeling the pain return in his back. He sat down again, eager for the comfort of the chair. He was growing old, and the constant fighting and tension was doing little to aid his situation.

"I'm exhausted, Badger." He grimaced and pursing his lips as he edged back into the seat.

"You must know how I feel, then," Badger joked. He had not taken a seat, even though one was available to him. He appeared almost uncomfortable now, his foot tapping anxiously.

"I wish things had gone differently," Kleiner mused, going off on his own tangent. "I almost wish I had never gotten Elias Kastner killed. It was my hand, _my _hand that held the flank back...and let him get overwhelmed. If he were still alive...he would be leading…"

"You're a murderer and a coward," said Badger. It was like an icy knife to Kleiner's heart; so blunt, so accusatory, but so _true_. He had never wanted to come to terms with what he was, how much of a coward and worm he had been back when Kastner had still had power. The arguments and debates they'd use to have, the plotting, the _hatred_...

"I know that." Kleiner bit his lip.

"Or were. You might be still a murderer, but I don't believe you're a coward, m'lord," Badger corrected himself quickly. It was somewhat of a relief to hear that.

"That depends on who you ask," Kleiner said. "I realize what I've done."

"There's no point in reflecting on the past. Forget about it," Badger told him, knowing that Kleiner was becoming frustrated.

"You're right," Kleiner agreed. He stopped thinking about it almost instantly; he could shut it off, if only for a little while, but the past continued to haunt him.

"The present is already troubling enough. I'm exhausted, Badger. I get the feeling that I'm going to die," Kleiner admitted.

"All of us will. You said so yourself," Badger reminded him. Silence followed, and quite a morbid one at that. It was the silence of dark contemplation between two old men whose clocks were ticking down.

"You are excused," Kleiner said, shattering the icy quiet. "Thank you for the brief moment." He had had enough. He needed rest.

"Twas nothing, m'lord." Badger bowed as he left hastily. His tone of voice indicated it had been anything but.

Hardly a casual conversation, but two old men watching each other's clocks slowly tick down. Second by second, minute by minute. Day by day.


	4. The Warmest Company

A steady nine days of travel had brought Aeric and Will to North Driftmist, in the company of the three men and their companions. Two dozen they were in number, with a similar amount of horses and plenty of supplies.

Rikken was the leader of the group, and the man who had accepted the oaths from Will and Aeric before they had left the Ditch. A gruff, hearty, and worn-looking man, Rikken had the aura of a natural leader and his voice was always commanding and urgent. His primary companion, Ibin, had been one of the other three men in the tavern that night, and was a rather conversational person. Aeric had little trouble getting along with them surprisingly, and neither did Will. For a few days relationships had been frosty at best, but the men quickly warmed up to the newcomers after they had stayed with the party for a few days and Will, especially, had received quite a bit of praise for his skills with the sword.

"We could use a guy like you," Ibin commented after another member of the group, an experienced fighter, had sparred with Will. Will had smiled but said nothing; it was clear that staying was not his overall intention.

Aeric, too, had received some interest after his true identity had been outed. He didn't bother hiding who he was, really; none of them held any grudges against him. Rather, after hearing his story, they took his side and verbally abused the Thell family for their injustices. Unsurprisingly Ibin was the most vocal of the group; his curses carried into the night as the men gathered around the campfire and discussed the issue of Thellden. All Aeric was receiving was sympathy; nobody had any hard feelings against him because of his bloodline.

The men seemed to like both of them. It was strange how quickly they had become attached to these strangers. He felt uneasy thinking about it, so he didn't.

The city of North Driftmist appeared to be recovering from the damage dealt to it before. Having been sacked by wild tribesmen from the Pass and having lost a significant portion of its army at Crestan, the city had been dealt a few stinging blows over the past year. Judging by the rising walls and sizeable amount of outgoing traffic, though, it appeared that the region had finally started to recuperate and was nursing its wounds.

"What do you make of it?" Rikken asked Ibin. His gruff voice was always slightly intimidating, even if he was attempting to be sympathetic or kind. It was only a little off-putting in casual conversation, but Aeric was growing used to it. Sitting behind the two men atop his horse, he could see the city walls rising before him, parts of them still under construction. Curiously, there was no drifting mist to be found; no mist at all, in fact.

"I'd say we should find no trouble here," Ibin mused.

"Remember what those Surrey caravaneers said?" Rikken asked.

"Said the city's on the up-and-up, I remember," replied Ibin. A more genial man that Rikken, Ibin was, and he made better conversation. Aeric and Will took a great liking to him.

"Aye. There's hope yet," Rikken agreed, spurring his horse to move again. As he moved, the party did as well, slowly but surely.

"We're going to be meeting others in the city!" Rikken boomed, announcing this to the entire column. "They'll be joining us going north."

"Aye, and they're previous friends of ours. Anoth, you'll know them," Ibin added, speaking to a man further back. Someone in the middle of the column, likely the man named Anoth, grunted his reply.

They passed several trade caravans and groups of travelers heading west before entering the gates of the city. Traffic seemed heavy and the city seemed alive, and there were construction workers at the base of the walls milling about, carrying bundles of supplies or great timbers to help rebuild the damaged defenses. Guards in mail and boiled leather stopped them at the gates and inspected the party briefly, but let them pass after they found nothing of interest. Despite their clearly visible weapons, the group was allowed inside the city, something Aeric found curious. Weapons were almost always confiscated at the Thellden gates unless the bearers were allies or of noble blood.

The party wound its way through the tight streets and found a dingy, sketchy hostel at the northern edge of town, where their horses were stabled and undressed. The interior was dimly lit and full of smoke, but Ibin wasted little time in finding his companions and they all gathered at a few tables in the center of the room.

"This here's Anoth. He's from Bound Rock, as hard as it is to believe!" declared Ibin as he wrapped a skinny arm around the bearish, stocky Anoth, who did not seem pleased at all to be receiving so much company. He received a hearty round of greetings, of which Aeric joined in, but muttered and downed the rest of his ale.

"Came down here to get fortune. You'd be surprised how much there might be," Anoth replied when questioned about his motives for coming so far south.

"Treasure hunter, like us," Rikkon announced to the rest of the party to ensure they all knew.

"The ruins and vaults up in the north are too dangerous. Too _alive_...or dead, in some cases. It's better down here, trust me," Anoth spoke to them all, slurring his words a little in a gruff voice.

"Anoth and his guys are pretty experienced at this game. They've also got some experience at trading, so if treasure doesn't pay off…" Ibin let his sentence fall off as the men began to chat excitedly, breaking off into their own circles. Drinks were coming anywhere, carried on tin platters by barmaids, and soon dinner was being served.

"What do you think so far?" Aeric asked Will as a platter of pork was passed around, with every man taking a hunk and dousing it with thick gravy.

"They seem decent. I mean, we've traveled with them this far, and they've actually been pretty hospitable. The thing about treasure, though…"

"Still?" Aeric took his portion.

"It's wild and really improbable that we'd find anything. You think we're really gonna get rich?" Will asked, raising his eyebrows. It was clear he still doubted success; despite the fact that Aeric had convinced him to leave the Ditch, he was still not convinced it would be a good idea in the long run. Aeric had to debate for his case pretty strongly.

"Maybe we don't find anything, okay. But we're going in the right direction," argued Aeric.

Will took a bite out of his chunk of pork. "That's something."

"We're heading away from trouble. Look, maybe once we get to Dwerhold, we can find a place to stay, and maybe some work?" Aeric suggested.

"You sound like you want to live there." Will's montone and flat face were not the only thing that took Aeric aback; he was clearly surprised at the mere suggestion of that.

"Er...no, no, not at all, just temporary-"

"The way you speak, I feel like...I feel as if you think otherwise," Will said, hesitating.

"I didn't mean that," Aeric rushed to defend himself. His voice had fallen to a whisper to avoid dragging unwanted attention to their conversation.

"Well, whatever you meant," Will said, shrugging. "We should not stay too long in Dwerhold. We need to get to the other side of the mountains, somehow."

"Easier said than done," Aeric reminded him.

"Why not leave from here?" Will inquired, leisurely flicking his fork into the air as if to accentuate his point.

"_Because_, we promised to go with them to Dwerhold! Remember that? They asked, we promised. They want our help," Aeric reminded.

"What help could _we _possibly provide that they can't find elsewhere?" Will asked, his jaw setting. Before Aeric could possibly answer that challenge, someone cleared their throat loudly and demanded the attention of the entire table.

"We'll be staying here for the night because the price is low and the food's not half bad," Rikken announced to the group. Murmurs of agreement rose from most of them. "And tomorrow, we strike out north into Surrey."

A small cheer went up, and several mugs were raised in a toast. Aeric was elated, even if Will was not sharing the enthusiasm. He could be convinced, perhaps, if Aeric was...well, convincing enough.

Rikken paid for every room himself, dispensing out money as necessary. Will and Aeric had a room to themselves, as requested; even though it felt somewhat cramped, and had only one bed, a dresser, and a pot for water, it was comfortable and rather clean for a cheap hostel. The blankets were dirty and irritating but they were at least warm, something to keep the autumn chill out.

Aeric got settled in first, as Will had stayed to talk with Ibin briefly about rations. That gave Aeric the chance to put out clothes for tomorrow morning and wash a few things before he could settle down to talk with Will. As soon as the latter had entered, unbuckling his scabbard as he walked, Aeric accosted him.

"Will, we need to talk." He tried to maintain a friendly, amicable tone of voice.

"About what?" Will asked, with no hint of fear or consternation. He smiled at Aeric, even, surprisingly jovial for a man who was displeased about the entire affair.

"I just need...need you to see eye to eye with me, okay?" Aeric asked. The smile faded right away.

"I'm listening," Will promised, setting his scabbard down and sitting on the bed. His face had hardened and Aeric knew this would not be easy.

"This could be good for us-"

"Do you want to live in Dwerhold?" Will asked abruptly. It took Aeric a moment to formulate a response to such a blunt, difficult question. He had to be careful with his answers, lest he upset Will.

Aeric sensed honesty to be the best path to take. "I...I have plans for it."

"I'm sorry Aeric, but I don't see that happening. I really don't," Will replied. He was being honest too; Aeric could see it in his eyes. That was good, at least.

"Why not?" Aeric asked, probing his companion's feelings.

"I _have _a home," Will replied, emphasising the fact that it still existed.

"So far away-"

Will became defensive defensive. "That doesn't matter. I have one. And I'm getting back to it." "And you expect me to come back with you?" Aeric asked, hoping to maintain a neutral tone. His emotions were starting to get the better of him, and now Will rose to face him.

"Let's face facts, Aeric...you don't have a home. You have _nothing_ but the clothes on your back. That was all left behind." Will's fists clenched. He immediately realized what he had done as Aeric fell into silence, trying to process what he had just said. The painful, vicious truth hit Aeric like a punch to the stomach.

"I'm sorry for that," Will apologized.

"It's true, though."

"I didn't mean to be offensive...it's just...you're _free _to find your own place. You can come to Swampheart and you'll lose _nothing_!" Will exclaimed, trying a different method.

"And how do you propose to get there?" Aeric asked, knowing where this was going. He was met with silence, and a contemplative Will. He had expected that.

"I understand your argument, but you're not thinking logically," Aeric said after Will failed to produce an answer.

"Am I not?" Will asked, growing more heated again.

"We can't go through the Pass. We can't go through the mountains. We sure as hell can't go back south. How do you propose we get to Swampheart, then? And _yes_, I know where it is. You showed me," Aeric said.

"You do know your geography," Will admitted, smirking at his own joke. Aeric was not as impressed.

"I hate to be like this, but there's no way we can get back. Not now. So why try?" He continued to push his point. There was silence again, and Aeric could see Will was struggling to counterargue. He was on the verge of giving up.

"You're killing me here," Will sighed, wiping his brow.

"I'm sorry," said Aeric.

"But I suppose you're right. What good is it? There's no way back home," Will admitted, finally collapsing. It visibly pained him to do so.

"Now that's no way to think. There _is _a way. We just don't have it yet," Aeric tried to assuage him.

"If you say so," Will said. "So I suppose it's better to stay in Dwerhold, then? For how long, though?" he asked.

"At most, a year. At the least, maybe a couple weeks. I don't know where these guys are headed but we won't go beyond Dwerhold, no further north. I promise."

He sealed his promise with a kiss. Will barely reacted but accepted the gesture without argument.

"I love you," Aeric whispered, wrapping his arms around Will's back. The latter did the same, embracing Aeric tightly. He brought his head to Aeric's and leaned into him.

"I know. That's why I'm coming with you." It was only a whisper but it was enough.

VVVVV

Autumn was now a reality, and with it the brisk chill. Coming from rainy Seattle, Matt was familiar with this kind of weather; he was used to waking up early on rainy days and packing his schoolbag in the dim light, so waking up to a light drizzle and a gray sky was quite easy. He was up and ready just a little after the crack of dawn, and ready for his inspection.

Sergeant Stellmeier waited in the foyer of the keep, holding a torch in one hand. Matt and Sora, the latter still rubbing sleep from her eyes, followed him out into the keepyard as he, along with two guards, led them on their inspection of the grounds. Apparently it was tradition for the lord of Stallhart, whomever he may be, to take a look around the entire town when he arrived to become familiar with it. Matt wasn't too eager to be tramping off into the mud at such an early time, but he could not refuse the invitation if it was part of tradition. Sora had opted to come along only because he had politely asked for her company.

"This shouldn't take us too long," Stellmeier told them as they trudged into town. "A quick tour, and I'll have you back before sunset."

"I hope that's a promise," Matt joked, smiling at Stellmeier. The sergeant wasn't sure how to interpret that.

"No promises," he said after a brief silence.

"Did it have to rain today?" Sora commented, pulling a hood up over her hair.

"Of all days, I suppose," Matt mused, holding his hand up humorously to catch the falling rain.

"I only came out because you asked nicely," Sora reminded him jokingly.

"Oh, I know. I'll be sure to ask doubly nice next time, maybe?" Matt asked.

"I don't think that's the way it works," she said doubtfully.

They entered the village, moving their way down the hill towards the town center. The rain began to fall harder as they approached the merchant district, and Matt was tempted to ask the sergeant if they could seek shelter in one of the buildings for a brief time. He was about to speak up when someone called him.

"M'lord!"

Matt's attention swiveled to where a young boy, perhaps only fourteen, was waving at him and calling his title. The youth was poorly clothed, wearing drab pants and overalls and little else, and going barefoot. He held a broom in his hand and had been sweeping a doorstep until he had called for Matt's attention.

"M'lord, beg your pardon, m'lord, but my lady employer wishes to speak to you. She's, ah, of great renown in the town, m'lord, as our herbalist, and very important-"

The boy continued babbling and Matt turned to Stellmeier to check his reaction. Stellmeier nodded at him, the approval to continue, and Matt silenced the youth with a hand on the shoulder.

"I will see her. Take me to her, then," he asked gently, and the youth complied instantly and without another word. He was shaking as he led Matt to the door and opened it, standing back for the nobles to enter. It was a quaint and somewhat pitiful sight to see, and as soon as Stellmeier had stepped into the building the door shut behind them and the young shop assistant was out of sight.

The herbalist's shop was dim and smelled like crushed roots, acrid water and candle smoke. Matt scrunched his nose up as he entered and the smell wafted into his nostrils, burning upon entry. Sora, too, had a similar reaction, and even stout old Stellmeier winced as he stepped into the dank hovel. There were shelves of goods packed tightly together, with various weeds and herbs tacked to the walls and hung from the ceiling. A few candles burned on the single windowsill and the counter was crammed with merchandise and small miscellania, indicating a lack of organizational skills. Quite surprisingly, Matt saw no marijuana on any of the shelves as he surveyed the goods that were on sale; coming from Washington, he had gotten used to dispensaries being as common as coffee shops.

"Ring the bell, that'll get her attention," Stellmeier urged. He pointed to a small brass bell hung up on the wall by the counter. Tentatively, Matt reached for it, his arm brushing over a small pile of thorny flora, and tapped it. The noise reverberated throughout the shack, and someone in the back of the building coughed and began shuffling towards the counter. A squat little redheaded woman, no taller than five feet and dressed in a drab brown tabard with a skirt draping down to her ankles, sauntered out of the door behind the counter.

"Lord Cook? It is a pleasure to be meeting you, m'lord," she greeted him, her voice chirpy and pleasant. She bowed from behind the counter and smiled gaily at him. Matt returned the favor as best he could, still groggy with sleep not feeling particularly enthusiastic about being dragged out into the rain.

"And a pleasure to meet you as well, miss-"

"Brudina Tolthor, at your service. Or, well, at everyone's service. Town herbalist, healer, and poultice maker, I suppose those are fitting titles," she mused, bustling from one end of the counter to another and putting various items in place. "I'm the one who staunches wounds and heals fevers, I suppose you could say."

"Of course. That sounds like a very necessary occupation," Matt said, unsure of what else to say. He wanted to attend to more important matters, not chat with a friendly old lady.

"I'll be at your service, of course, m'lord. I presume that Arthur was the one who called to you?" she asked.

"Ah...Arthur?"

"My shop assistant. The youth-"

"Ah, yes, him," Matt said, remembering quickly. "He did."

"Good lad, good lad. I told him, look for you, and told him what you look like...and, well, it is simply a pleasure to meet you, m'lord! New liege of Stallhart, and a strong and powerful one at that, by the look of you!" Brudina exclaimed, smiling delightfully at Matt. He knew it was mostly a facade, the old feudal tradition of suckering up to the nobility. Even now, after so many months living in Connaughtsshire, he still found it rather strange. Lords and ladies had ceased to exist for centuries back on Earth, of course.

"Oh, it's always a tradition for the herbalist of the town to meet the lord. That's something we've always done, beggin' your lordship's pardon...it's just tradition-"

"I understand," Matt said, growing weary of their conversation already. "It is nothing you need to apologize for."

"Oh, of course, my apologies, m'lord...but I remain at your service, and will be at your behest for all-"

"And I am thankful for it. I must be off, Miss Tolthor. I appreciate your work and will see you soon," Matt said, cutting their conversation off right quick. She didn't seem to mind much; she cheerily bid goodbye and returned to her duties, humming as she worked.

"Cheery little oaf. A little too cheery, but she's hardly naive from what I've heard of her. She's a veteran in her field," Stellmeier explained as they left the dingy herbalist shop and walked back out into the cold rain.

"I'm glad for that," Matt replied.

"At least, that's what the locals tell me. I suppose I can trust them," Stellmeier grumbled. He pulled a hood up over his head and continued to lead them through town, talking from time to time. Matt felt Sora grab his hand and in turn squeezed hers, holding it tightly as they walked. She was bored, he knew that; he hoped they wouldn't be out too much longer. A little more sleep might be welcome, even if he had work to do.

"Are we going all the way to the gates still?" Matt asked as they strolled further down the street, leaving Arthur the sweeping boy behind.

"We have to. It's part of the walk," Stellmeier said. "Even despite that..._diversion_."

"Is it actually tradition?"

"Hell if I know. I wouldn't argue with it, though; she does have an important position in the town. She might even save your life once. Or twice." Stellmeier laughed but it was short and forced. He looked rather unhappy, and his unhappiness was exacerbated even further when someone came running at them from a crowded market stall, clearing targeting Matt.

"M'Lord Cook, is it!?" the young man exclaimed, stopping just a few feet in front of Matt. Like the shop assistant, he was barefoot too, but somewhat better dressed.

"I am-"

"My master corruptor wishes to see you! He said it's urgent!" the boy exclaimed, and darted off down the street, making waving motions at Matt as he did. Stellmeier audibly groaned, and Sora looked positively bemused.

"He says it's urgent…"

"Just go and get it over with. Bloody _corruptor_," Stellmeier cursed, and Matt led the way once more. He briefly explained the cult to Sora as they walked, and she was becoming more pale by the minute as they approached the dead-end alley where the unnervingly dark temple was situated. The boy had just opened the door and waited as Matt and company strode inside; the door closed behind them quickly and they were left in the stifling dimness of the corruptor's abode.

"He'll likely be down in that bloody basemen-"

"Lord Cook," the unmistakably mellifluous, tranquil voice of Delwin Saythe came from the warrens behind the altar. As well-dressed as any decent pastor, Saythe strode out of the hallway and smiled handsomely at Matt, who did not deign to return the favor. The man who followed him, though, was not nearly as friendly-looking as Saythe.

"You called me," Matt said, skipping the pleasantries.

"Ah, yes, I had my messenger dispatched. I'm so glad he found you," Saythe exclaimed, ignoring the cold reception. "I must fill you in on some information that you ought to know."

"Aye?" Matt asked, eyeing the stranger who was shirking behind Saythe.

"I have to introduce my _lieutenant_, as you might call him...my second hand man, Abu Drusi ar-Raqqawi," Saythe announced, stepping aside so that the stranger could be clearly seen. He was a far cry from Delwin Saythe, in everything from his unkempt hair to his dirty manner of dress.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Matt said, feigning interest. He received no reply

"He is my assistant...or, well, I suppose I could call him a missionary, but he's not really that," Saythe said, smiling at Raqqawi. Raqqawi did not return the gesture, and his frown was rather off-putting. Matt wasn't even going to try to smile at him; his visage was almost wild, with untrimmed beard and overgrown hair and dirty cheeks. Nevertheless, Matt had to accept him as he was; he had little other choice.

"I'm glad you're ensuring that I'm aware of all of this. I appreciate the information," Matt said as he began to walk back, actually longing for the rain now. The interior of Saythe's little chaos church was stifling and made him nauseous. The lighting, as always, left plenty to be desired. And he had places to be other than here; he was tired of distractions. The herbalist's shop had been enough.

"Oh, duly noted, m'lord. I believe that honesty is an excellent trait to have." Saythe bowed ever so slightly.

"Of course, of course,"

"I will hope to see you back soon, I wish to tell you more so that you may be informed as well as I! May chance be on your side," Saythe called after him as he moved to the door. Sora's hand in his again, he strode out into the rain, eager to leave the Herobrinists behind.

Stellmeier snorted as the door shut behind them. "What a strange thing to say."  
"I will reserve judgment on them," Matt said, wishing to forget the matter. He was already making a few scattered judgments, but he didn't want to be _too _harsh. The fact that the cult was based on the concept of chaos and corruption was enough to unnerve him significantly, though.

"As you say, m'lord," Stellmeier grunted. He sounded like he wanted to pass a truck load of judgment on them at the moment, but had enough self-control to remain silent.

"I don't trust either of them, myself," Stellmeier said, shaking his head.

"I just want to get to the gate and walls. Can we do that?" Matt asked, striding forward into the rain. He didn't want to be out any longer, but he needed to.

"That was the original plan," Stellmeier grumbled.

Despite the rain many people remained on the streets, attending to their properties or businesses or going about their daily affairs. Many of them walked barefoot, Matt reflected, their feet muddy and filthy and glistening with dirty water. Most of their clothing was rudimentary, fairly woven at best, and did not extend in design beyond drab brown tabards and woolen wraps. Their tools were made of crude iron or, in some cases, stone; hammers, hoes, rakes, pitchforks all in disparate states of overuse.

Matt noticed that many of the buildings were poorly constructed or falling apart, and that a few had been completely abandoned due to structural issues. Most of them were built out of logs or thatch, much of which was now rotting. He began to wonder what kind of problem he had inherited, and how he could fix something _this _fucked up.

The gate did little to improve his spirits. He had been paying little attention to it upon arriving at the town; upon second inspection, he was incredibly disappointed with the state of it. Barely a gate at all, perhaps a glorified door, its frame was rotting away and the hinges were rusty and slowly breaking down. There were a few holes in the bottom, as if someone (or something) had tried to dig its way in and damaged the gate in the process, and the gatehouse surrounding it was maintained only by two sentries, one of whom was asleep when Matt inspected his post. All in all it was a sad sight to witness, made even worse when Stellmeier led his liege out onto the walls.

"The walls are barely that. They couldn't hold up to a catapult, much less a trebuchet or anything more powerful," Stellmeier explained, sweeping his hand over the wall segment. Made only out of giant logs bound together with thick rope, they were rotting and falling apart, and could barely be considered walls at all.

"Then what good are they?" Matt asked, perplexed about the security issue that was at hand.

"Keep bandits and Harvesters out. Even though Harvesters don't really come this far north, better safe than sorry," Stellmeier said.

"Can we build them stronger? Higher?" Matt asked.

"You'd need an engineer for that," Stellmeier said.

"And?" Matt missed his point.

"We don't have any engineers, m'lord," Stellmeier replied, snorting at the notion of it.

"Can't we-"

"I believe Lord Steadwin discussed this issue before. And even then, before the war, the matter was not practical. Now it is even less so. We must make do with what we have," Stellmeier told him, his tone becoming harsher. "We have to. It is our only option."

Matt commented, shaking his head. "I don't approve of what we have."

"I apologize, m'lord-"

"No, no, it's just that I am..._concerned_," Matt said.

"I understand. It's better than nothing, though, and high enough that you need a ladder. Do bandits have ladders? No, they...well, okay, there was that one time. But we'll ignore that," Stellmeier said, already pushing Matt back towards the tower. "Let's get back inside. It's chilly out here and I'm soaked to the bone."

Matt agreed, uninterested in staying out any longer. Overall Stallhart had suddenly disappointed and frustrated him, and he found himself missing the Ditch. He felt like he was stuck in a backwater now.

Sora comforted him on the way back, squeezing his hand. "I know it's not much, but it's something. We could have picked a worse place."

"I don't know about that. I feel like I'm in hick hell out here," Matt swore, feeling more frustrated now that he was talking about it.

"Oh, come on. That's hardly true," Sora berated him, squeezing his hand harder. "You're overreacting. Maybe you just need to get some rest time."

"I'm not going out again, god no," Matt said.

"I didn't say that."

They walked in silence, Sora gripping his hand tightly. He wanted to apologize for his mood, but he couldn't find it in him; he needed some time alone first, just to recover from the disappointment and mounting stress.

"Are you doing okay?" asked Sora as they reentered the warm interior of the keep, leaving the rain and muck behind.

"I need...to just relax for a bit. Unwind," Matt told her.

"I'm sorry that today didn't go as planned," she said. She knew what was wrong, and he was actually a bit impressed. He had tried not to let anything on.

"Yeah, me too. I was expecting...more," Matt admitted, sighing. Stone walls and a great iron gate would've been nice right now; he missed the mighty defenses of the Ditch and even Thellden. He had felt safe within the confines of those cities; this pitiful little village did the exact opposite.

Sora ran off somewhere to find her servants, whom she was becoming particularly close to; Matt had no interest in commenting on it, but found it strange that in a feudal society they were being forced to adapt to, Sora was so closely bonded with her handmaidens. The way he'd seen other nobles treat their servants, it was almost as if they were invisible. They existed simply for chores and dirty work, and little else. It was strange how Sora treated hers, and it was almost as if they were her friends the way she spoke to them, especially the Korean girl.

Matt, after departing from Stellmeier's presence, went upstairs to change and perhaps wash a bit. After tramping through the mud the entire day, he knew he needed to get clean. Retiring to his quarters, which were as clean as ever, he stripped down and tossed the dirty clothes in the corner, knowing one of Sora's servant girls would retrieve them later.

That's when it happened. Only a split second occurrence, and completely painless, but utterly terrifying.

While pulling his pants down, Matt felt himself flashing out of consciousness. The world in front of him disappeared, pants and all, and he was swept into darkness for the briefest half of a second. The black transformed into light, and he was looking out onto a barren, ash-blanketed world devoid of life, and then darkness returned. He felt a rush of wind, a booming voice, and then the world returned to him, as did his pants. Matt found himself on the floor after that and wanted to scream.

It was the briefest thing, but for a minute afterwards he felt paralyzed. Spread eagle on the floor, his mind rushed with possibilities. After regaining his composure and swallowing the thick knot in his throat, he continued undressing warily, waiting for it to happen again.

It did not. Whatever _it _was. That he had not figured out yet, but that voice was familiar. It was supposed to be dead, too.

He remembered the Enderborn. But why had he _heard _his...or _its_...voice? He wasn't about to mention it to Sora, not yet; maybe at a later date. For now, he'd stow the issue away and consider it later.

Still wary of the event recurring, he jumped into bed and waited for Sora to come to extinguish the torches and kiss him goodnight. It had been a long day, and he felt like the days were only going to feel longer as they began to grow shorter.

VVVVV

Stanislaus Antar knew his enemy very well; he was not just a slippery foe, but a dangerous one. A man as veritably insane and tactically skilled as the Xonos Mallistron was not to be trusted, nor underestimated. He had to play his cards carefully.

"What do our losses amount to?" he inquired, turning to his records keeper.

"Full count comes up to 6,540 roughly," replied the keeper. He stood to the side of what was perhaps the grandest throne room in all of Connaughtsshire, one that might even eclipse Thellden's. Antar had rebuilt and renovated the entire castle so it could stand as a grand new capital of the province, and he was not about to let his work be overshadowed by the traitorous Thells. He was pouring even more money into it now; Antar and his entourage were dwarfed by the towering walls and high frescoed ceiling of the Dunnefold throne room.

"A decent lot," Antar said dryly, turning his attention from the records keeper to the man before his throne.

"M'lord, the defeat was crushing on my mens' morale," the commander standing before him spoke. "We...the Kleisardathans...they're nearly invincible…"

"Untrue. You just need to find their soft spot. You are dismissed, commander," Antar said, waving his hand lazily. He had other business to attend to; defeat was an inevitable part of war. He would recover, as would his soldiers.

"D-dismissed, m...m'l-lord?" stammered the commander.

"You retain your command...for now. I see it fit. You are dismissed from my presence," Antar specified, repeating his order. The commander bowed sharply and bounced eagerly out of the room, pleased to retain his command for sure. Antar would keep him for now; he might redeem himself after the rather unfortunate debacle up by the Ditch.

"Commander Kellas," Antar called, summoning his right-hand man. He had little time for regular, inexperienced leaders right now; he needed someone he could trust. Kellas stepped out of the throng of people lining the sides of the room and stood before the throne, as rigid and erect as a spear. Several months of war and logistics work had seasoned him and he had become quite reliable over time.

"I need you to prepare a diplomatic envoy to the Ditch." Antar handed down his demands brusquely and succinctly. "If there's anyone you trust in particular, now's the time to put them on the job,"

"And the purpose, my lord?"

"I'm suing for peace. Against the will of some of my officer corps, of course, but I realize that a ceasefire is necessary," explained Antar. All was quiet but a few stifled murmurs in the audience; few would dare to challenge him, and those few were not in the building at the time. He was sure to keep them out on the field, blooding their soldiers in easy victories or holding defensive positions.

"I will do so, my lord," Kellas replied, without question. Never hesitating, never challenging, he accepted his mission stoically.

"And you must be hasty. I will give you details before you leave. This court is dismissed, as all matters are seen fit," Antar said, and the assembly began to shuffle out of the room. As asked, Commander Kellas followed his liege back into the palace's command center, down the back flight of stairs and into the warren of tunnels and chambers that formed the basement. The walls were still unfinished, and the caked dirt leaked moisture onto the floor.

"I cannot fight a war on three fronts, not when I'm dealing with Kleisardathans on one of them. I need peace with someone, and the Ditch is the most likely ally we can get," Antar began to talk as they entered the main command room. Desks and cabinets full of papers and parchment hugged the walls, with a few modern metal filing cabinets acquired through less-than-legal means. Maps marked with all sorts of details and logistics specifics covered the tables, and a few swords hung up on the wall for decoration. This was one of the only rooms that had actual wooden walls; the others had been only recently dug out.

"Are you considering an alliance, then?" asked Kellas.

"I do not know. I will think about that at a later date. But for now, ceasefire," Antar replied.

"And what if they reject it?"

"Then I will have to deal with them, one way or another. I cannot have them at my back, scheming whatever they might be. I need them either neutral, or on my side," Antar affirmed. He swept a hand over one of the wide-scale maps and dropped his finger on the Ditch, a tiny blotch on the parchment.

"And what would you have me say? Do you want me to go for an alliance?" Kellas inquired.

"Not now, no. I want the envoy simply to seek peace. That is hopefully a mutual desire...we can talk alliance later. For now, I need them quiet," Antar said, pondering over the map.

"As you say, my lord," Kellas said. He made to leave, bowing deep and saluting Antar.

"Our enemies grow stronger, Commander," Antar called after him. "And in strange ways, too. There is a war we're not yet fighting, and I believe you're aware of it."

"I heard the stories from Milltown. Only a few people spread the word, but it caught on like wildfire. Do you think it's credible?" Kellas turned only his head to respond.

"I should think so. We have more than enough proof. We need to get human allies, Commander. It's the living against the dead, and we need to count every one of the living as on our side," Antar said, his eyes fixated on another place on the map. East of the river...the abandoned lands. Nothing happened there anymore, and nobody came from it.

"Well put, my lord," Kellas said, sounding rather eager to be going. It was clear that he either did not believe in the walking dead, or he was not pleased to be on the subject. Antar let him go.

"You are dismissed, Kellas. Please bring back some good news, I wouldn't mind some," he called as Kellas left the room. His eyes refused to leave the eastern side of the river; he began thinking on how to face the imminent front that was slowly shifting towards him. If no one else would tackle it, he would.


	5. The Question of Duty

**Hello dear readers! I apologize for the length of time it took me to update this, given how much I struggled with this chapter. I hope you'll forgive me, and I hope to make it up to you by shortening the time it takes to write the next one. I've gotten some feedback from a few people, so I hope to implement those suggestions going forward. Any other suggestions as to improvements of story flow or grammar are very welcome. Please enjoy Chapter Five!**

**VVVVV**

Shandra was always out of the loop now when it came to Keldon. More so than ever, these days saw her struggling to keep up with him when he seemed dead-set on leaving her behind. It was beginning to get out of hand.

It was only because of her clever nature she was able to keep tabs on him. Keldon had a soft spot for his favorite vice - sex and drugs - and he often indulged himself in both. The whores who spent so much time with him were on Shandra's payroll as well as his, though she needed them for far different reasons. They would report to her whatever they could glean from Keldon and his environment, and anything important that came would be sifted out and noted down.

She would honestly prefer to receive the news directly, but she could no longer do that.

Technically, Keldon was in charge of the city; as Arstas' first son, and with his other brothers fled, Keldon was the legitimate successor to the position of High Lord, and he had now acquired the station thanks to his mother's handiwork. It was difficult to remind him that _she _was the one who had elevated him, the one who had murdered her husband just to see her son succeed. _That _little detail seemed to skip his mind too often.

Everyone reported to him, seeing as he was High Lord, and all missives and reports from treasurers, officiants, commanders and viziers came to him. Most of the messages he passed on to Shandra; seeing as many of them were concerned with social issues or finances, he found them boring and below his station. However, when major news or military reports came in, Keldon would hoard them and only speak to his mother if repeatedly prompted. He had taken a liking to his newfound power, and had quickly forgotten his mother was responsible for giving that power to him.

It was one of the whores who delivered the missive from Lord North to her. Sitting in her bedchamber late at night, scrolling through tax forms and financial accounts on her desk, she decided to ignore the light, plaintive knock at the door initially. When it continued, however, she was forced to abandon her work temporarily and answer it.

The whore was only half-dressed and her face was caked with rouge and cheap makeup, but she was important enough to let in. Shandra locked the door behind her, received the letter, and then forced her out immediately. She knew this had to be important; the royal seal of Thellden was stamped on the front, requiring immediate attention. The whore had other business to attend to, and Shandra locked the door again once the bitch was tossed back out into the hall.

Lord North's handwriting and stationary were incredibly familiar, and almost somewhat comforting; it was good to know he was alive and well, at least at the time of the letter's writing. It was not so good to know Keldon had received this and had told her _nothing _about it, as if she were below such information. She was the one who had dispatched North and his army in the first place; how _dare _Keldon step around her like that? Fuming, she opened the letter and read it, hoping to glean something useful from it:

"_To the High Lord Keldon Thell, High Lord of Thellden and Its Magnificent Properties,  
And to the Lady Shandra Thell, Matriarch of the Great Thell Family of Thellden,_

_ I am dispatching to you this letter to inform you of the progress of our great legion northwards towards the city of Dunnefold. We are still doing well with supplies and have encountered little of our foe since marching out. We are about a week away from the city, give or take several days, and hope that we may surprise our foe. This is where some concern arises between myself and Sir Horace, as well as the noble Sir Talas; we are wondering if the enemy knows of our presence. We have only encountered one force of theirs, and utterly destroyed it with no survivors. Therefore, it is plausible that we remain unseen; yet, we are unsure about whether or not this is true. We could very well be marching into a trap, perhaps some sort of pincer movement or an enemy force so massive we cannot hope to crush it. Sir Talas has expressed even more doubt, and we must send to Thellden to ask for orders to continue from our most magnanimous and wise High Lord and great Lady. We will continue so long as it is the will of our great High Lord to press the attack. Without further ado, please respond to this missive. We await it and will hold our ground should our enemy seek us out._

_Sincerely,_

_Lord North of Thellden"_

She balled up the letter and tossed it into the wastebasket. Senile old bastard...she should never have let him take command. He was the most experienced of the lot, yes, and the most level-headed, but he was overly cautious and terrified of being outnumbered. Sir Horace and Sir Talas were more daring and were younger but both were hard-headed and Sir Talas was very impetuous. She was at a lack for good commanders and it was becoming frustrating, even more so now she realized Keldon had read this letter and mentioned nothing of it. She drew out parchment and scribbled a quick letter back to Lord North to give him the go-ahead, but decided not to send it until morning. She was exhausted.

She was beginning to feel helpless and isolated from power now that Keldon had taken over. He was beloved by the people, and made a great show of himself, but he was weak and inexperienced and needed his mother's help. He did not realize that; he thought he could control the entire city simply by his own virtue. Shandra sat at her chair and steamed silently as she wondered how she was going to deal with this. Frustrated and irritated, she wanted to march into his bedroom and berate him violently for his failures and inexcusable behavior; but that would be unprofessional. She had to go about this a different way, something far more subtle.

She needed a general assembly. She needed to bring the situation under control. She needed power back in her own hands, not in Keldon's.

Her own plans were unraveling and turning against her, she realized. Having written her response, she now wondered if Keldon had already written his own and dispatched it to Lord North; how strange would it seem if poor Lord North, isolated so far away from home, were to receive two possibly contrasting responses to his query? The thought was almost tragically humorous.

She had to respond, though. She would send hers out in the morning, and pray Keldon either did not reply or his reply would be invalidated. If anything, North should listen to _her_, not him; she was his benefactor, his real superior. Keldon was nothing but a puppet, or should be. Now she was beginning to doubt that, and she needed to do something.

A general assembly tomorrow, yes. Call all voices together and show them what she intended to do. Or, rather, just a little piece of what she intended to do.

She had to restore power into her own hands. Thellden's security and prosperity was relying on _her_, and her alone; Keldon could not yet come into true power - he was far too young. She had to hold on until he was old and wise enough; she had to retain her power for now, for the safety of the city.

A general assembly tomorrow, that was what she needed. That would be enough for the time being; it would be a start.

VVVVV

Will was arguing again, back on the offensive. He must have found some buried doubts, because he had been otherwise completely convinced earlier that day.

The party decided to stay an extra night in North Driftmist in order to purchase extra supplies and repair any weapons and armor that needed work; it was another week or so up to Dwerhold, and the road was not particularly safe until they reached the border with Surrey, four days away. They were spending the night in their hostel, and the day had been relatively quiet. Will even enjoyed dinner, making good conversation with some of the members of the party and happily drinking with Aeric and Ibin when ale was delivered.

But now, he had done a complete 180 on his position. Aeric struggled to keep his calm as he listened to Will.

"We've been over this before," Aeric gently reminded him. "Will, we talked about this!"

"I know we did! But I'm not entirely convinced still," Will replied, his voice cracking. His face was flushing and sweat was breaking out on his brow, something that did not occur often. Will was not a very heated person.

"You told me you were," Aeric said.

"Maybe I've changed my mind?" Will proposed.

"Will, please…"

"I needed time to think! And I did think...thought this over again. Aeric, can you see this from my point of view?" Will begged, looking like he was ready to fall to his knees. Aeric nodded his head.

"I can try," he promised, and fell silent for a moment.

"Remember the state I came to Thellden in. Before we...liked...knew each other. I had a job to do before that, something I dedicated my life to," Will began, now sitting back on the bed, his hands clasped in his lap.

"The girl, yes?"

"_Listener_," Will corrected him quickly. "It's a complicated matter but I devoted my life to her. And I failed in my line of duty."

"Will, you couldn't have helped that," Aeric said.

"But I _could _have, damn it! I could've stopped that, or at least given her a chance to get away even at the cost of my own life! I slipped up, I failed. My duty is to return home and accept whatever must happen," Will said, angry at first and then simply melancholy. He bowed his head and Aeric felt a twinge of pity for him.

"I was supposed to protect her. And I _did_, I rescued her from a rather, ah, fiery situation. I promised to bring her home no matter how long it took. That was my duty, Aeric. And now what do you think I can do?"

He was met with silence. Aeric wasn't sure what to say, but the question sounded more rhetorical than anything else. Will wasn't expecting an answer.

"I have to go home," Will finished. "Even if it means punishment or death. I must face what comes, and face it without flinching. That's the best tribute I can give to Cass."

"She would forgive you, Will," Aeric interjected. Will seemed unable to respond to that; mouth partially agape, he stared at Aeric strangely, comprehending those words.

"She would have...it was out of your control. Some events we face are out of our control, and this one was, was no exception," Aeric continued.

"You think so?" asked Will.

"What could you have done? Even the greatest of men died that day, Will. You made no mistake." Aeric sat on the bed beside him and wrapped an arm around his muscled shoulders.

"I don't feel that way," Will admitted.

"There's no use dwelling on it."

"I _know_," Will seethed, flinching. "Lord, you're telling me everything I already know! It's no help!"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, I know that...I'm being contrary right now. I'm reneging on my promise," Will apologized.

"I understand, though."

"Do you?" Will turned, looking Aeric right in the eyes. It was just a bit unsettling; Aeric could see his unrest.

"I...wish I knew more about her," said Aeric.

"I wish you did too. It would be easier to understand. But...it is a lot to learn. She was incredibly special to all of us, not just to me. And I didn't leave her behind just to go off on some..._treasure hunt_." Will shook his head.

"I understand that."

"You don't understand it all. She was the last of a race of...incredible people, vested with incredible power," Will mused. "That might sound like bullshit, but there's a lot in this world that's beyond our understanding as mortal humans."

"I believe you, Will. I believe you...I just wish I could sympathize with you completely," said Aeric.

"It would be nice." Will's shoulders slumped in defeat, any sort of frustration pushed out of him by an overwhelming wave of sadness and apathy. It was unusual for Will to suffer like this, but being away from home and Cassandra for so long had corroded his strong spirit.

"Well, I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't...it really doesn't help, I know," said Aeric.

"I don't intend to turn back around. You...you are right. We need to continue," Will agreed.

"But we don't even have to _live _in Dwer, Will," Aeric said, trying to cheer him again. "We can go home after that!"

"To...my home, right?" Will asked.

"Swampheart! We can make for the Pass, I bet we can do it. And from there we just have to get through the wilderness to Midway and we'll be safe from thereafter," Aeric laid his plan out, smiling gaily at Will to drive his point home. The latter was not nearly as pleased as Aeric was.

"That's easier said than done," he argued.

"No pessimism, now. It's possible," said Aeric.

"Possible, but not easy."

"We can do it. Maybe there's another outlet, too...maybe we find treasure in Dwer, hunh?" Aeric suggested, painting what he hoped would be a rosy and enticing scenario.

"I don't care about treasure," Will muttered, shaking his head.

"Maybe we hit it rich, we can get lucky and-"

"I don't _care _about treasure, Aeric," Will's voice rose. "I just want to go home. I want peace. That's all." Aeric paused, Will's hands still firmly clasped upon his cheeks. His palms were hot and sweaty, almost soothing.

"Of course," Aeric replied, his mouth dry. He was tempted to go in for a kiss, but he didn't think this was the right moment. He would have to wait to satiate his desire. He knew Will felt the same...he did feel the same, right? He would want that kiss, just later? The tendrils of doubt began to creep in.

"I think I'm ready for bed," Will stated, rising. "I just need to sleep. That's all."

"Rest. Maybe you'll feel better once we get moving again," suggested Aeric. To that Will did not reply; he was simply too tired, or too stressed, to continue the conversation. Aeric didn't really blame him; he was missing home, too.

Except he had no home to return to. His home was the enemy.

VVVVV

Sarah Lancaster had come to her in tears, whimpering something unintelligible. Sora, ever the sympathetic mistress, comforted her and cuddled with her for a few minutes in order to calm her down. She had her suspicions about the cause of the problem, but said nothing until Sarah started speaking.

"She told me to clean out the...the fireplaces. Clean the a-ash, and the charcoal, and all that," Sarah stammered. Already the job Lana had given her seemed ludicrous; cleaning the fireplaces, as filthy as they were, would be nigh on impossible. It would take several hours to sweep up everything in all six fire pits in the keep, anyway.  
"That sounds absolutely silly. And then what happened?" asked Sora, letting her continue to gather as much evidence as she could.

"Well, I started, of course...I couldn't say no," Sarah said, calmer now that she was talking with Sora. "I tried doing it, but it was so difficult, and then she came back...after half an hour, and berated me for not having the fireplace I was working on done."

"And then?"

"She said...have it done within another half an hour...I can't do that within an hour," Sarah said, beginning to shake.

"That's an impossible demand she made," Sora said, holding the handmaiden closer and squeezing her shoulder.

"I had to keep working, m'lady," Sarah said, her voice starting to crack. "If I didn't, she'd report me, or fire me!"  
"She cannot fire you, sweetheart," Sora reassured her. "She doesn't have that authority." Sarah's composure began to break as she continued, visibly upset.

"She said something else, she said she could, and she t-told me t-that she would!" Sarah stammered. "And I can't be fired, I can't, where will I go!? All I have is you and-"

She broke down once more and Sora waited until she could regain her composure before continuing. Her anger directed against Lana Valdez was boiling now that Sarah cried uncontrollably in her arms, unable to do anything but blather unintelligibly.

"S-she t-treats me very unfairly," Sarah sniffled after regaining control. "She does the same to the other servants. She's a monster."

Sora brought Sarah closer. "I know that, love. But I'll put a stop to this, you'll see."

"Don't let her fire me, please," Sarah pleaded, tears still brimming in her eyes.

"I promise I won't. I will talk to her, don't worry, and I'll see that all of this is sorted out," Sora promised, and sealed her little promise with a kiss to Sarah's pale cheeks. It was enough to make the servant girl smile and giggle like a child. Sora rose and left Sarah on the bed, deciding it was best to keep her in her personal quarters until this little issue was sorted out well and proper.

What injustice! And what _betrayal_! Lana had made her promises just a few days ago and already she was reneging on them. That bitch was trying to test the waters, Sora knew; trying to figure out how much power in the household she could retain without trouble. Sora didn't appreciate that and knew all she had to do to contain Lana was summon Matt. But would he listen? He expressed great disinterest in the situation before and, given how much work he had been handed after their tour of the village, it was apparent his concerns did not include Lana Valdez.

She knew where to find the stewardess. She would be seeking Sarah Lancaster, hoping to set her to her tasks again. Easy to find, and hopefully easy to negotiate with. Pulling Matt's name might work well.

She ran into Lana down on the entry floor; both of them walked briskly, marching towards their different objectives, Lana heading upstairs and Sora heading for the foyer. They both stopped for a moment and sized each other up before Sora stepped forward to confront her.

"I have taken care of Sarah Lancaster. She told me everything," said Sora, puffing out her chest noticeably to try and appear more intimidating. Lana was not moved by the gesture.

"She is lying. She's trying to coerce and manipulate you, with all due respect m'lady," she replied, with no hint of respect in her tone.

"I believe her. Is what she says true? Did you set her to such a harsh task and require her to have it done by a certain time, which is impossible?" asked Sora.

"She may be skewing the facts, but yes, I did set her to work on the fireplaces. However I provided to her whatever tools she needed, certainly did not establish such a strict timetable on her, and was rather gentle with my requests. She is blowing a minor situation out of proportion," Lana explained, using hand gestures to aid her argument. Sora was not moved by her attempts.

"I think you're the one who's lying," she accused Lana, whose jaw clenched and eyes widened.

"You'd trust a lowly servant over the stewardess of the house?" she asked incredulously.

"Is that an issue?" Sora folded her arms. Lana did the same, echoing her aggressive body language.

"M'lady, you must understand what I'm telling you. Your servant is trying to manipulate you, _you_ because she knows she can get away with it!" Lana argued, spitting with vitriol now.

"I refuse to believe that," Sora said. "I would be able to tell if she was trying to twist me."

"Would you?" It was a rhetorical question, to be sure, but it gave Sora a pause. The slightest phantom of a twisted smirk grew on Lana's face as she knew she had obtained a tiny victory.

"She is my servant. You will not treat her like this." Sora stepped closer to the belligerent stewardess.

"You are being far too soft," Lana sneered.

"And you ought to be softer, too!" said Sora.

"My methods are perfect. They worked before, why wouldn't they work now?" Lana inquired.

"We already discussed this."

"_You _are the one who is bringing it up again. I believe that what I'm doing is perfectly acceptable! Lord Steadwin-"

"_Is dead_." Sora hissed the words for emphasis. "What you did under him is over. You answer to _me _now, understand?" Lana paused now, clearly struck by her words. Perhaps it was the mention of the late Steadwin that gave her that pause, and maybe cleared her head a little.

"I do," she said after a moment. She was regaining composure, however, and her hostile attitude remained.

"You answer to me, and only to me. If you refuse to acquiesce, I will have you relieved. Is that clear?" She knew it was a harsh, but necessary ultimatum; she could not have Lana gaining power over the household. Sora needed to establish herself, and quickly.

"That is clear. M'lady." Lana's voice was ice cold now. No matter how deep one might dig into it, they would be able to find not a jot of respect.

"You are dismissed. This will not happen again," said Sora. She had the feeling it would, however, knowing how Lana operated. The latter swiftly turned on her heels and strode away, holding her head high - pride wounded, perhaps, but still dangerous; Sora began to fear her and her lust for household power.

She retired back to her quarters, if only briefly. Sarah Lancaster was dismissed, her tormentous labor forgotten, and Sora could sit down and mull things over. She was afraid of Lana, that was true; but she realized she had to overpower her, lest she gain control. Sora _loved _her servants, to be frank, even though they had been together for less than a month. The girls understood her like Matt still couldn't, and they were more than just laborers to her. They were friends, almost, especially Yu Jin.

Stress was beginning to overcome her, though. Both Yu Jin and Sarah went about their chores and reported back to _her_, as they should, but Sora couldn't stop fretting about Lana, wherever she might be. It got to the point where, because Matt had been gone for several hours, she needed some sort of stress relief. Perhaps medicinal? She could use a vape or something like that; it had been her go-to for immediate stress relief back home. The most she could do in Stallhart, though, was visit the herbalist. After half an hour of pondering her options, she hesitantly left the confines of the keep, almost creeping down the hallways out of fear of running into the stewardess. She was nowhere to be seen, however, and Sora was able to leave without issue, although she was hesitant about leaving her servant girls behind while Lana was still there.

The smell of rain and autumn hung in the air as she made her way down into town unaccompanied. The guards at the keep's gate cast her strange looks, but she remained unmolested as she made her way to the familiar herbalist's shop. Brudina Tolthor had seemed like a kind enough soul, and quite pleasant at conversation, but Sora still felt nervous as she entered the dim confines of the little shack. Why, she couldn't say; perhaps stress was just building and had piled an unimaginably heavy burden upon her? She was unable to determine what was wrong, but knew she needed something to ease her mind.

"Lady Cook! A pleasure, oh, such a great pleasure, m'lady," Brudina Tolthor exclaimed when she ran to greet her customer. The sweeping boy was in the back, sorting through crates of herbs and weeds; he glanced briefly in Sora's direction, and then ran from sight, as if frightened by her noble presence. Sora was forced to shake hands with Brudina and accept all of her delighted stammering, which she carried on with for at least a minute.

"A right pleasure it is to have you as a customer for me, oh, what it is! Begging your pardon, m'lady, I apologize if I'm overwhelming you-"

"Not at all," Sora brushed her off. "I just need to pick something up."

"It would be my pleasure, m'lady, my pleasure to serve you. Just tell me what you might need," Brudina asked, stepping behind her counter.

"Just something small," said Sora. She did not spot what she wanted, but it couldn't hurt to ask, right?

"Tell me whatever it might be, m'lady, and I-"  
"Marijuana?"

Brudina stopped mid-sentence, and her face actually went pale. She stepped back from the counter, visibly shaken, and attempted to regain her shattered composure.

"M'lady, I apologize _profusely_, but we never serve that...demonic weed here, no, no, not at all," Brudina sputtered, twiddling her fingers anxiously. "I apologize _so _much, but...no."

"No, no, I'm sorry...for asking," muttered Sora, her mouth bone dry now. The awkwardness of the situation was compounded by the sweeping boy running into the room, staring at Sora wide-eyed as she stood before the counter, grasping for words.

"I need...need something to, uh, de-stress. You know, stress relief and, uh, relaxation," she stammered. Brudina took a moment before she recovered, and acknowledged her request.

"Ah, of course...that's what you meant, yes?" Brudina asked, making her way into the back room.

"Yeah…" Sora did not want to say anything else. She wanted to leave now; she had been fine before. But now, everything felt incredibly uncomfortable and she just wanted to get back home. She didn't entirely trust Brudina either, despite her kind nature.

"I have just what...you may need, m'lady," Brudina said, returning from the back room still visibly shaken. She carried a crate full of lusciously green leaves tinged with yellow on the stalks.

"What do you call it?" Sora leaned over to look into the crate.

"We call it midwife's relief, although it has a more professional name presumably," Brudina explained, handing a few leaves to Sora. "It's mostly for pregnant women or those delivering, but it eases pressure and stress and relaxes a troubled mind. Simply brew it into tea and drink up! I would recommend it...more so than anything else."

"I...thank you," Sora stammered, accepting the offer. Brudina smiled at her, but it was not as pleasant as it had been before. She was clearly bothered by Sora's previous demand. She wrapped the leaves in a small brown package and tied it tight with a string before handing it to Sora, who accepted it quickly.

"No charge for you, m'lady, being the lady of the town and all," Brudina said when Sora tried to extend coins to her.

"Ah...of course...well, thank you," Sora managed, grinning at Brudina to signal her appreciation.

"Of course, m'lady, of course! Just for you, too, I rarely give this to any ordinary person! It's quite a rare herb, oh yes, I hand-picked it myself down by Rovel where the big oaks are, oh, that forest is quite lovely…"

Brudina rambled on as she went back into the back room, and Sora made a hasty exit. She wanted nothing more to do with the herbalist now; things had gotten too awkward back there. It was messy, and she wanted to forget it.

The brown paper package in her hand seemed both comforting and menacing in equal measure. On one hand, it could very well be dangerous or poisonous to her; after all, how did she know that Brudina was completely trustworthy? She could very well be on Lana Valdez's payroll, or even sympathize with her. Knowing Lana's attitude towards her superior, Sora was afraid of the lengths she'd go to to retain power.

On the other hand, of course, it could be a simple relaxing herb that would do wonders to Sora's mind. That was more likely, of course, but it felt like she was flipping a coin. The closer she got to the keep, the more anxious she got. It felt like she was drawing ever closer to death.

_You're being silly. Stop being a little child_, she told herself. The aching worry began to gnaw at her though and she was losing control of her rampants fears. Everything was starting to fall upon her and she was beginning to realize how unprepared she was for this job. Even something as simple as a little yellowish plant was now a threat; with Lana Valdez opposing her, everything seemed dangerous. Even her stress relief was creating stress, strangely.

There was nobody to be found in the keep; they were either busy, or asleep. She wasn't about to allow herself to get concerned with that; she was almost relieved the castle was silent, besides the few rats.

Matt still hadn't returned from wherever he was; going over plans and building designs with Stellmeier, apparently. She was kind of glad he wasn't in their quarters; it was so peaceful in there, with the fireplace roaring and the torches briskly burning in their sconces. Faced with her imminent coin flip, she almost felt comfortable now.

She eyed the herb, considering it. She had water, and she had her herb; she had fire, too, so why not make the tea? It was as simple as that, and likely to help her. She was on the verge of doing it. But something turned her mind. Some buried fear, deep in the back of her head.

_You can't do this. You will die_.

An ancient, primeval fear drove her to turn around.

_They're lies. They're all lies, trying to trick you. You have to outsmart them._

The voice in the back of her head, perhaps survival instinct, drove her on. She tossed the herb into the fire and watched as it blazed merrily, crackling and snapping as it shriveled up and dissolved into harmless ash. If it had been poison, it was poison no more. The threat had vanished.

The stress remained, and it had likely only multiplied, but for a brief minute she felt strangely relieved watching her gift die in the fire. It felt like a tiny victory over Lana, even if she had nothing to do with Brudina. It felt like a battle Sora had won, a step she had taken above her opponent. She'd deal with the stress and hardship later; right now, she would deal with the stewardess.

She had a little time to relax before Matt came, though. As the fire began to die down, she undressed, washed her hair, and sat up on the bed. She spread her legs and reached down between them, banishing any thoughts of Lana or poison or Stallhart. She entered her own little world for ten minutes, forgetting all of her problems temporarily.

VVVVV

"You encountered a Wither before, a long time ago. Do you remember?"

"Vaguely," Leon replied, calling back memories of an ancient millennium. Herobrine sat opposite to him at the conference table, his posture oddly relaxed despite their intense conversation. They had made their preparations and bundled up their supplies, and recruited dozens of trusted soldiers to come with them, but they were still not ready to leave. Leon needed to know more.

"It was...some giant thing, almost mechanical in its movements. This was back after the Disaster," Leon said, struggling to think clearly. That past had become so muddled to him it was uncanny; he remembered the gist of what happened, but names, places and things had become unfamiliar. He had forgotten all of them.

"I remember it well enough. But _you_ need to recall it. This is what we face now," said Herobrine.

"I was fighting a war, Hero. Where were you?" Leon asked, feeling a little attacked.

"Watching from the shadows. I prefer reclusivity to proactivity, for the most part. But I believe the time has now come to be proactive. The Wither you faced was a poorly designed one, but it is similar to the ones that the Enderborn is trying to build," Hero extrapolated.

"Is it a mechanical thing, or something else?" asked Leon.

"I believe it is something else, but even I don't know. Markus knew, he had a faint idea seeing as he created their foundations, but he is no longer with us. My best guess is that they are sentient but driven by whoever crafts them," Hero said. He sounded quite uncertain himself, which gave Leon cause to worry. If Herobrine didn't understand them, who would? There were few in this world as ancient as he, if any.

"So in this case, that would be the Enderborn?" Leon guessed.

"That's what he wants. But he needs those skulls," said Hero.

"Tell me more about the skulls. I don't quite understand...how do you _know _where they are?" Leon asked.

"I don't know, precisely. That's the problem. But I can guess, and guess pretty well," Hero said. He still looked uncertain, and that was what worried Leon more than these mythical monstrosities. He _did _recall the Wither from before, but it had not seemed terrible back then. Or had it? Had he just forgotten? He didn't even remember the woman he loved. He had lost her a long time ago, long before his time at the Ditch.

"How do they work, though?" Leon wondered.

"It's...complicated. The skulls are dead, nothing but bone, but that bone is not like human bone. Are you following?"

"Trying," Leon said.

"The bone is something powerful, a metal or whatnot. There's a lot of...magic, I would say, within that skull. It contains the entire spirit and control of a Wither, and placing that upon the compacted body will produce the living being," Hero began.

"So it _is _living?" asked Leon.

"In a sense. The skulls control it, three of them being necessary for one Wither. The body is made up of something called soul sand, which apparently contains human souls...not that I believe that, of course, but it's a powerful element in its own right. The skulls will bring the sand to form, which is the Wither's body, and they themselves will answer to whoever their creator is. The creator is the one who places the skull on the sand," Herobrine explained at length.

"The capstone upon the pedestal," Leon mused, letting the information dump itself into his head and sort itself out. To any commoner it might sound like mystical bullshit, but Leon knew more than enough about the world to realize that it was, in fact, plausible.

"Precisely," Hero said.

"So, skull goes on the sand, and it forms a body?"

"A living, sentient entity. Complex and mysterious, and in the control of whoever places that skull upon the body. And that body is nearly indestructible," Hero said.

"What could take it down?" Leon's stomach tightened into a knot. Every word Hero said made the situation infinitely worse, and Leon began to imagine nightmarish scenarios of an indestructible monster paving the way for the Enderborn's total victory. That would not do.

Hero shook his head. "You won't have the power to do so."

"Yes, but I need to know," said Leon.

"Nothing short of pinpoint atomization or a thermonuclear blast could destroy it," said Hero. "Spears and swords are like blades of grass attacking a steel suit of armor. All the armies of the world would be lucky to take one down."

"Why was this thing created, then? Why did M- your brother lay the groundwork for such a thing?" Leon asked, perplexed by the menagerie of unanswered questions he had. How could this entire thing be? What was its purpose? _How _did someone let this happen?

"He defeated one before, but from the outside. Outside interference can eliminate anything in our world, Leon, remember? But he was the only one who understood it fully," Hero said. "We are lost without him. Mr. Manneh does not have the power that my brother did."

"I spoke to Carl," said Leon. "He seemed...perplexed. He doesn't understand how it works, and I'm afraid that means more trouble for us."

"Possibly. But we cannot rely on him anyway. We need to take our own action," Hero affirmed.

"Where are they at, then?" Leon reached for the map he had prepared for their conversation, rolling it out upon the table. It stretched the entire width of it and half the length, and pooled over onto the sides. From the Great Salt Flats of the west and the Uprange all the way east to the mysterious continent of Gamos and the Grey Sea, the map laid out the entire world as it was known. From the icy wasteland of the polar north to the sweeping savannahs of Archaymyiae and the impassable mountains south of the Cay, nothing was left out.

Herobrine slouched over the table to point at two locales on the map. "I've identified the locations of two. Both on the southern continent."

"B'aileth?" asked Leon.

"And the Manquil."

"Fuck that," Leon swore. "You're telling me we're going to the Manquil?"

"We're going to have to," Hero cautioned. "They'll get there if we don't."

"Nobody survives there. Those few who have are the luckiest of the lucky. You know the history of those wastes, right?"

"Better than anyone else. But we must go," Hero urged.

"You expect us to go in without suits?"

"Hardly," Herobrine said. "We will procure what we need, but the fact of the matter is we must go. The skulls were kept there, buried in ancient ruins and undisturbed until the cores failed. The tumult created the lacerations and that exposed our ruins. We need to get inside them and retrieve those skulls."

"And what about in B'aileth?"

"I will brief you more on that...when the time is appropriate," Herobrine said, hesitating. It was that hesitation that was Leon's red flag; it was something even Hero was not keen to discuss.

"Alright," Leon acquiesced. "And the rest?"

"I will find those later," said Hero.

"So it's a wild goose chase, then?"

"I would not be so hasty to deride my plans like that," Hero chastised him. "I have my people. I have my resources. I know roughly where we will be going after that. We'll be off to the Cay."

"You're trying to get me killed, aren't you?" Leon asked, half-joking. He was also half-serious; the Cay might very well be worse than the Manquil.

"Possibly," Hero joked, chuckling. "But it's unfortunate that we will have to enter a warzone. It is necessary, though."

"You keep saying that," Leon muttered.

"The Enderborn will not rest until he has these skulls. He's already raising new members of his army. Skeletons will be pouring out of the old Almandere tombs in the far east mountains, and he'll bring Furies and pigmen into our world. His armies are growing," Hero warned, his tone dire.

"I heard about Milltown. Does that mean anything?" questioned Leon.

"What happened at Milltown was pure luck on behalf of the defenders there," Hero said. "I do not think it will happen again. We cannot count on that, and we need to take action."

"I understand that now," Leon said. "I have no choice, do I?"

"I need you Leon. Can I count on you?" Hero extended a hand out to him as a signatory gesture. He hesitated, feeling sweat bead on his brow as he mulled over the question.

"I don't have a choice."

"You do not. But I will need you," Hero stated.

"We have been preparing for this for days. I must go," Leon decided. "As long as you will stay beside me, I will go."

Hero put his hand down and, oddly, smiled. "We will face death together and either perish or return ever stronger. Whatever happens, we will be doing this world a service."

"I must bring Darius with me," said Leon.

"Bring whoever you please. We will need people. We will hire mercenaries, tradesmen, fighters, whomever we need. We will buy supplies aplenty, too," Hero said.

"How do you intend to pay for that?" Leon asked, rolling the map up as he rose.

"I will have my ways. You need not question."

"Offshore bank, hunh?" Leon smirked.

"In a sense," Hero said, not returning the smirk. Leon was left clueless and decided not to inquire further. His head was already spinning and he could use some tea or sleep.

"I hate to abandon the Ditch, though...do you think Erik can keep it in shape?" he asked as he put the map back in place.

"Lord Tanser is a smart and strong man. I have no doubt about his abilities," Hero replied, now staring idly out the windows. The conference room overlooked the great fissure, and one could see all the way down to the bottom level, down in the dim depths of the cavernous ravine.

"He's worth something," Leon agreed.

"I believe he is competent. You are needed on this expedition; the Ditch will survive for a time without you," Hero said. It was not much of an assuagement, but it helped.

That was the end of it, then. Hero remained in place, gazing down into the abyss, his thoughts nebulous and inconceivable. Leon, for one, needed to sleep after that. He needed to mull things over, calm his nerves.  
It really did feel like Herobrine was trying to get him killed. He could only hope the other skulls were located in more..._hospitable _locations.


	6. Stallhart Nights

Geography had been one of Matt's worse subjects in school; he found maps interesting but the gritty details and terminology eluded him. It was with a heavy heart that he traipsed into the lord's work room to look over the cartographical data he needed to learn by heart. Stellmeier, of course, was accompanying him; the man was never far from Matt, and took up the uncanny behavior of standing guard outside the bedroom at night. It was somewhat unnerving.

The other man in the room went by the name Teleraemon, a curiously exotic name drawn from the history of Ais Kleisardathos. Once a scout in the service of the fearsome Xonos, Teleraemon had apparently disbanded his liege after the disaster at Crestan and, making his way southwest in search of shelter and food, stumbled upon Stallhart and joined their garrison after being arrested and interrogated. He clearly had little love for his old home, for he had apparently thrown his badge into a roaring fire after being admitted into Lord Steadwin's service. Now, having passed into Matt's service, he would be a critical asset if Matt wanted to understand the lay of the land.

"You'll become very familiar with this through time, but it's good to examine it," Stellmeier said as they approached the map. "Teleraemon is very familiar, apparently."

"I've been here for three months and explored every field, grove and ditch around the town. Well, I say so myself, I suppose you'll have to ask someone else if you don't trust me," said Teleraemon, his voice dry and dead. A beanstalk of a man, he stood at about six foot seven with sallow skin, beady brown eyes, dark mousy hair and a fragile-looking build. He looked more like a runner and less like a fighter.

"Stallhart is here, right at the center," Stellmeier pointed at the map, placing his finger on the black diamond at the center. "Take a look at the rest."

Matt let his eyes wander across the board, struggling to see the smaller labels. Most of them represented creeks, groves, or hills of little importance, and he ignored them. He did see the two small hamlets about two miles east of Stallhart - Roanshire and Skagway - and the castle about fifteen miles southeast, by the name of Castiron Hill. The diamond representing it had been colored in red and marked with an X.

"What's with Castiron?" asked Matt.

"It's a Thellden place. A lot of the villages between Fellowton and Stallhart are owned by Thellden, but Castiron is the only castle. I would say it is most definitely a threat," Teleraemon answered, rushing to the map.

"You think that they might attack us?" Matt asked.

"I cannot say," Teleraemon said. "I have not scouted it well enough, but you could be right. It's a possible threat."

"I haven't heard much about Castiron. I would not doubt the treachery and malice of the Thells, though. We are on the frontlines, technically," said Stellmeier.

"And possibly in the Xonos Mallistron's way, too. Er, depending on where he's marching," Teleraemon pointed out. Matt's stomach tightened at the very mention of the feared Xonos. He'd heard the stories; everyone had.

"You think you can scout Castiron? You think it would be a good idea?" Matt asked, turning to the scout.

"Well, yes...frankly, there's a lot I could do given enough time. But I can get a layout of the castle and also try to see what's going on over there," Teleraemon replied. "As soon as possible, I would suggest."

"Tonight?" Stellmeier interjected.

"I can do that," the scout agreed. He smiled wearily, displaying a row of yellowing teeth. Clearly dental hygiene was unfamiliar to Kleisardathans; either that, or Teleraemon's diet was laughably poor. Matt hid his disgust behind a return smile and hoped the scout was worth his word.  
"I think it's necessary," the sergeant said, speaking to Matt. "My advice is to focus now on the issue of Thellden. We are technically at war, and whoever is the liege of Castiron will likely have his sights on Stallhart very soon."

"That's...not good." Matt struggled to find something good to say. Clearly that wasn't it; there was a shared awkward silence between the scout and the sergeant, as if they couldn't believe their liege had said something so pithy and pointless. Matt felt himself begin to flush and was glad when Teleraemon spoke again.

"Begging your lordship's pardon, but it's also key to focus on the peasantry. You'll need to take care of them now that winter's coming," Teleraemon changed the subject. It was not a good change, though.

"Right, of course," said Matt, feeling overwhelmed now by the menagerie of troubles flooding his mind. Now this, now that, this threat and that threat, winter and famine and disease and war. High school and its associated issues were beginning to look downright utopian compared to this medieval hellhole. Decisions were being regretted more than ever.

"Roanshire and Skagway are both pretty poor villages. They're glorified hamlets, about one hundred people each, and their economy relies on farming, woodcutting and harvesting the peat bogs. Of course, they are just as important to Stallhart as anything," Teleraemon continued.

"We have to protect them, then," Matt said dryly.

"Er...yes, that's what we're saying. It's important to devote military forces to the villages as well, not just the castle," said Teleraemon. "We-"

The door to the room suddenly slammed open and someone huffed as they entered. Whoever it was, they were clearly angry. Heavy footsteps traipsed across the room.

"I was not told about this," a venomous, red-faced Avery Steadwin growled. "I was not invited."

"I didn't deem it necessary." Stellmeier turned to face the youth. "We're just going over a map with Lord Cook."

"I should go over it too. Seeing as I'm like a _vice _lord…"

Teleraemon snorted at the idea of a vice lord, and Avery shot a harsh glare at him. The scout was hardly moved nor intimidated, and Avery fell silent as the others returned to the map, ignoring his temper. Matt, for his part, said nothing; his previous entanglement with Avery had not ended well and he preferred to avoid another.

"Lord Cook has gone over the map and is going to memorize it...hopefully," said Stellmeier. Matt knew Avery was looking at him from behind; he dared not turn around and face the youth. It would only be trouble.

Avery showed no interest whatsoever. "That's good."

"I'll be scouting Castiron Hill and trying to get some bearings on activity there. We've gone far too long without doing so," Teleraemon added.

"Finally confronting Thellden, are we?" asked Avery.

"That's the intention. Thellden is our real enemy, and they're too close for comfort. I intend to stand and deliver whatever kind of fight is necessary," Matt said, suddenly feeling confidence coursing through his veins and delivering a wave of false bravado. He puffed his chest out and faced Avery down, knowing full well that he had to either intimidate the youth or earn his respect. Stellmeier looked irritated, but Avery's demeanor changed ever so slightly; he may very well have smiled, just a little.

"That's good," he repeated, his voice less flat now. Even if Matt's bravado was false, it had made some sort of impression.

"We have to protect our own lands, too," he declared, deciding to continue. Stellmeier was now looking at Matt strangely, but he ignored it, preferring to explain himself to the sergeant later.

"Ah, the villages?" Avery walked up to the map. He pushed Matt aside a little to make room for himself.

"I know the mayors of both villages very well, myself," he continued. "If you need help with that, I can provide some." Stellmeier did not look impressed, Matt noticed; he leered at both of them with the surfeit and bemusion of someone watching a circus act. In short, he did _not _like Avery.

"What kind of help, though?" Matt asked, squinting.

Avery noticed Matt's skeptical glare. "I know both of them personally. I think I can work with them better than anybody else can."

"Perhaps." Stellmeier remained stoic.

"Are you certain of this? You think you can organize a guard force, too? Because I believe that may be necessary," Matt suggested.

"A good idea," added Stellmeier. "I think, however, that such matters should be left up to more experienced men, should they not?" He turned to Matt as he asked that and Matt suddenly realized he was trapped between two different men with two different intentions. Avery turned to him too, and he knew he had to make a decision.

"I...think so, yes," he agreed. Stellmeier became visibly relaxed and nodded his head, while Avery tensed up and a frown began to grow on his jowls.

"I can do that, I'm sure. It should not be a problem," Stellmeier said, smiling warmly at Matt as Avery glared venomously.

"I may remind you, Sergeant," he said, bristling. "that I have personal connections with the mayors of both villages. Which _may be helpful_."

"And I may remind you, Avery Steadwin, that Lord Cook has the final say in this matter. And unless his mind has changed..." Stellmeier spared a glance towards the rather anxious Matt for emphasis. "...then I will be going."

Both of them were looking at Matt again. He could feel the anger radiating off Avery, and realized it was too late to correct his mistake. Piss of the sergeant, or piss off the stripling lord? Either or, one of them would be on his bad side at the end of the day. He preferred to stick to the sergeant.

"Sergeant Stellmeier is more qualified to go. He...is more experienced," Matt reaffirmed. The sergeant nodded pleasantly, but Avery had nothing but vitriol boiling inside of him. Clearly offended by his lack of "qualifications", he shook his head and left the room, grunting something inaudible.

"The boy needs to learn humility and responsibility," grumbled Stellmeier. "That was needless."

"I...suppose so, yes," Matt agreed, his cheeks flushing red now. He wanted to remain at least on neutral terms with Avery, but any hopes for that had since been dashed. He could've avoided the entire situation simply by denying Avery access to their meeting, but that would've pissed him off too. Was there any way to satisfy the little shit?

"Well, is that settled, then?" asked Teleraemon, interrupting Matt's train of thought. He sputtered but Stellmeier interrupted him before he could glue his thoughts together.

"We have nothing more to discuss. I would suggest that Lord Cook become familiar with the map and the local terrain, and if he wishes I will take him to Roanshire and Skagway tomorrow," Stellmeier said.

"I will do that," said Matt.

"Then we seem to be finished. You will go tonight, Teleraemon?" Stellmeier asked.

Teleraemon took his cloak from the writing desk. "Have a horse ready. I can ride fast and be back by late morning tomorrow. Or, if I'm caught, never."

"Don't get caught," Matt said dryly.

"Hah, Teleraemon's better than that. He served one of the best armies in the world, so he says," Stellmeier laughed. Teleraemon was not amused by the mention of his past.

"_Were _one of the best. Things happened," he said, refusing to say anymore. Without further ado they departed the map room, Matt a weird blend of emotions and concerns, none of which he relayed to the sergeant. It was almost bedtime, he figured, and if he were going to the villages tomorrow he would need plenty of sleep.

He returned to his quarters, stripped, cleaned a little, lit the torches, and waited for Sora. If anybody could calm his nerves and make him feel at home, it was her.

VVVVV

Arithmetic had been one of Sora's worst subjects in school; she found theories and ideas interesting, but numbers and practical applications eluded her. It was with a heavy heart that she followed Sarah Lancaster down into the storage rooms of Stallhart keep to take inventory of the castle's stores and stocks. Most of the town's resources, everything from lumber and wool to peat and weapons could be found down in the catacombs of storage. Sarah had become acquainted with them since exploring them, and Sora refused to entrust Lana Valdez to such an important task. She knew she had to do it, and report back to Matt and Stellmeier with whatever she found.

"It is unusually dark down here, Lady Cook," said Sarah as they entered the main room, a wide chamber stocked full with crates and boxes. "We will both need lanterns."

"How is it...unusual?"

"No idea why, but going down here without a lantern is...ill-advised. One can easily get lost and I don't think that all of these corridors were created by men," Sarah answered. Sora was incredibly uncomfortable now as they continued. She decided to disregard Sarah's words as superstitious nonsense of some sort.

They made their way through the labyrinths of wooden beams and sod walls, looking over every nook and cranny to take count of what was stored. Never good at math, Sora had difficulty keeping track of the numbers, but Sarah was a godsend and helped her organize their tablet when Sora lost track or became muddled in the digits. What probably would've taken her five or six hours only took about two, thanks to Sarah's help. They were able to take their tallies and go over the numbers in a relatively short amount of time.

"We're short on several things, I'm noticing," Sora muttered unpleasantly, looking over her tablet.

"Anything important?" asked Sarah, wiping candle tallow off her fingers.

"Pitch, peat, wool, and bricks are all critically low," she noted. "Peat especially...how much have we been burning?"

"Not much was harvested recently, my lady, according to one of the other servant girls. Things here have been very disorganized without a liege," Sarah admitted.

"That's...that's a problem," Sora frowned. "We need to keep all this stockpiled better."

"I agree, my lady-"

"I'll talk to Matt about it. Thank you for your help today...I really, ah, appreciate it," Sora said, smiling at Sarah. The latter returned the gesture with ease, blushing a little.

"It was my honor to help my lady," said Sarah. "And my duty, as well."

"Duty done very well. I don't know what I would've done without you," Sora said, leading her up the stairs and out of the dark, stuffy storage. "You are free to go for today."

"What about everything else?" Sarah asked.

"We can put that off for at least _one _day," Sora said, grinning devilishly. "I'm sure Lana won't mind. Not at _all_."

Sora punctuated her jibe with a wink and Sarah smiled, daring to make fun of her superior. Sora could see the relaxation and relief in her face, finally being able to pick at her nagging boss without worry. She felt relieved, too; her work done, she was now free to retire to her quarters for the rest of the day. Lana Valdez would trouble her no more, as the threats she had promised the previous day could easily be used against her again. All was well, it seemed.

She returned up to her quarters and found Matt sitting on the bed, looking rather pissed and removing his buckler and sword rather angrily.

"How was your day?" Sora dared to ask, closing the door behind her. Someone had already lit all the torches and set up the fireplace, whether it was Matt or one of the servants she did not know.

"Stellmeier keeps briefing me with a bunch of shit I'm supposed to memorize. It just gets more and more confusing," Matt complained, stripping his shirt off and tossing it aside.

"I'm sorry," Sora said, expressing as much sympathy as possible.

"You've got it easy," scoffed Matt. "All you've got to do is look over the servant girls while they do their work. Seems easy enough to me."

"Well, I have to do some work too," Sora argued, stung.

"Eh, it doesn't look that hard," Matt dismissed her claim. "Try dealing with Avery Steadwin. What a stubborn fuckboy, man."

Sora tried to comfort him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry things aren't going well."

Matt sat down on the bed beside her, pants half undone. "Nothing you can help," he muttered. "It's just a lot of trouble, and I'm not sure how to deal with it."

"You seem to be dealing alright, so far. Stellmeier likes you!" Sora pointed out, trying to cheer him up a little.

"Only because I kiss his ass. Is that what I'm supposed to do?" Matt asked, half sarcastic.

"I'd keep doing it," she advised. "As long as you stay in his good graces. He's a smart man."

"I suppose," Matt acquiesced. "Ah, to hell with it all. Being noble is hard work. Honestly, I'd rather be back in the Ditch, being a nobody."

"You haven't been a nobody for a while," Sora reminded him.

"Unfortunately," Matt scoffed, unlacing his pants and letting them fall to the floor. Dressed only in leggings, he looked rather peculiar. "Do we have anything to drink? I'm thirsty."

"I can have Yu Jin bring up some water," Sora said.

"No, not that kind of drink. _Drink_," Matt emphasized. Sora's stomach clenched, her tongue tying itself into a knot and sweat beading on her forehead. A plethora of awful scenarios presented themselves in her head, imagining Matt drinking himself to stupidity or to bodily harm.

"_Matt_," she said, her tone cautionary. "No."

"Oh, don't be like that. It will be relaxing!" he argued, smiling at her. In his leggings, which fit tight to his legs, he looked almost laughable, like some sort of court jester. She resisted the urge to snicker at him as he stood up.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said.

"And _I _think it is. Just a little bit? It'll help you sleep better, maybe," Matt suggested, trying to win her over. She wanted to remain steadfast but couldn't help but wonder if just a _tiny _bit would hurt. Would it?

"I sleep just fine as it is, thank you," she retorted. "I don't think you should drink."

"And I think otherwise!" he declared, growing frustrated by the sound of his voice. "I'll go get the servants myself if-"

"_Fine_," Sora caved in, fighting back the stupid scenarios in her head and dismissing them as childish fears. "But just one bottle of wine, okay? I don't want you getting out of hand."

"You sound like you don't trust me," joked Matt, smiling devilishly at her. "Whatever could go wrong?"

"Fuck off," she scoffed, heading for the door. "I'll be back with your booze."

"Take your time," Matt called back, clearly undisturbed by Sora's perturbation. Maybe he just hadn't noticed; Matt was never very acute, and had difficulty processing others' emotions. He _had _been much worse before, especially back in highschool where he played up his clownish behavior just for attention. She wondered if he was dicking around just to try and entertain her; if so, it wasn't working. She was nervous.

"Just a bottle, Ma...Lord Cook would like some before bed," Sora ordered Yu Jin when she came down to the stockroom.

Her servant grabbed one of the bottles from the storage shelf. "Everything going alright, my lady?"

"Oh, just fine! Why...do you ask?" Sora asked, wondering how she noticed anything amiss.

"You look bothered," Yu Jin said, all honesty. "Is it something wrong?"

"I'm just tired, is all. Went down to check the inventories, and it took forever," Sora complained, lying directly to her. She wondered if Yu Jin knew; if she did, she disguised it quite well. She simply smiled pleasantly and handed Sora the bottle of wine.

"Sarah told me all about it. I'm glad you're feeling fine," she said. "Good night, my lady!"

"Love you Yu Jin. Sleep tight," Sora called back, blowing her a kiss as she left. Yu Jin returned the gesture, as she was want to do. She seemed to love acting cute and happy, even when she wasn't; even while sad, she would try to smile. Sora appreciated that.

The bottle was unlabeled, having no winery or producer marked on it; that seemed a little sketchy, but Sora was sure that Matt wouldn't mind. Alcohol was alcohol - being a teenage boy, he would drink just about anything as long as it would put him at ease.

"Just one bottle," she said as she reentered their quarters, locking the door behind her. "That's all you'll be needing."

"You sure you don't want to share?" Matt asked, now reclining lackadaisically on the bed, his legs spread. "Pleeeeeease?"

"I...ugh…"

"_Please_?" he repeated, grinning.

"Oh, you fucker," she swore, grinning back at him. "You're too cute to say no to. Just a little."

"That's the spirit!" Matt celebrated, accepting the bottle from her. She was going to procure a glass of some sort, but he just started drinking right from the bottle, downing it in gulps.

"You're such a pig," she chided him, rolling her eyes. She lay down on the bed beside him, reclining. The room was well-lit by the torches and the fireplace, and almost felt cozy. It felt like home, especially with him laying beside her.

"Hey, I couldn't drink much back home. I was a deprived child," Matt retorted, setting the bottle aside.

"Oh, poor you," she snorted. "Such a poor deprived child."

"May I remind _you _that my parents hated me!" Matt said. "Always preferring my stupid sister."

"Oh, if only they could see you now," said Sora.

"They'd probably approve. I'm nobility now! I've got a title, lands, and everything, isn't that something!?" Matt asked, looking over at her.

"Well, something to me. Hand me the bottle, would you dear?"

Matt passed the bottle over and Sora took a few sips, letting the warm liquid flow down her throat. It felt like fire burning in her belly, but it was a good sensation, hardly painful. She turned over to face Matt and saw a similar fire burning in his eyes, his pupils growing and sweat beading on his forehead. He motioned for the bottle again and drank deep from it, not even pausing to savor the taste.

"Alcoholic," she joked, elbowing him in the ribs to try and make him gag. It didn't work.

"Shut up, I've been dry for too long," he rebutted, sneering at her.

"When's the last time you drank?" she asked.

"I went to a party with Isaiah Brant, you know him?" he asked, putting the bottle aside. He was now slurring his words slightly, quite visibly buzzed. She knew within a few minutes it would grow worse. He had drank quite a bit. She was already feeling her head swimming, and felt much more relaxed than before. Any thoughts of Lana Valdez were out the window and blown away on the wind, gone for now.

"Basketball dude?" she remembered. "Yeah, he seemed like an asshole. You went because he had booze?"

"And because he thought I was cool for being such a moron," Matt replied, winking as he slurred. He was acting like a moron right now, too, and she wondered if Isaiah Brant would enjoy this. "He liked how I treated Mr. Waters."

"Waters was just a douche. What he got was fair," Sora said.

"I tried in his class, I really did! He hated me, though, and that's why I kept being an ass to him. Tit for tat, I guess?" Matt said. He reached for the bottle again and brought it to his lips, taking in a decent swallow.

"I think you've had enough to drink," Sora warned.

"You sure?" asked Matt mid-swallow. "You didn't have much, yourself!"

"I'm not sure I want...aw, hell. Can't hurt, right?"

"Don't ask me, I don't know," Matt replied, feigning innocence. She sneered at him and swiped the bottle out of his hands, feeling greedy. She took a deep swallow this time, more than she should have. She immediately regretted it, wondering how badly this would do her over.

"It tastes alright. I'm more partial to vodka, myself," Matt commented, noticing the bottle was half empty by now. "Damn, I had quite a bit though."

"Party boy," Sora chastised him gently. "You're such a party boy."

"It's only because I make myself popular by looking dumb," Matt retorted, sitting up to face her. His slurring was now pretty bad, and he was definitely drunk. It was more entertaining than concerning, now.

"I bet you _are _fun at parties," Sora said.

"You wouldn't know!" Matt shouted. "You never went!" He began laughing after that, giggling like a schoolboy.

"That's because I preferred the less slutty girls," Sora retorted, smirking. She could feel an ocean in her head now and was loving it. The outside world had ceased to exist and all that remained was Matt. He seemed even more attractive when drunk, somehow; that seemed weird, but she wasn't gonna question it right now. Maybe later?

"Ooh, that's harsh. Brianna Washausen wouldn't like that name," Matt said.

"Brianna can go _suck a dick_," Sora hissed, grinning widely. "She does it plenty." They both laughed at that, falling over each other as if it had been a hilarious joke. To them, it was; everything seemed funny right now. Sora inadvertently flopped her hand over onto Matt's crotch and felt his dick, incredibly erect, poking through his leggings.

"Are you having fun?" asked Matt when the laughter died down.

"You are, it would seem," Sora said, trying a seductive smile on him. He blushed immediately, feeling her hand on his crotch. He did not recoil, though.

"Hey, quit that!" he shouted.

"I'm just teasing you," she said, bringing the hand up his chest and letting it relax on his shoulder. "You like it."

"It's the alcohol." Matt blushed hard. "I can't help it!"

"Shhhh," she said, placing a finger on his lips. "Don't be so loud!"

"Oh...ah. Right," he quickly backtracked, shuffling awkwardly. "Sorry!"

"Oh, don't be sorry, you dork..."

It was the alcohol talking, but right now she didn't mind. Some voice in the back of her head had warned her about drinking too much, and those warnings had been unfortunately ignored. She was definitely slurring now.

"Ah...should we drink more?" Matt asked, struggling with his words.

"I think I'm fine," Sora reprimanded him. "You too...you had a lot."

"I think I need more," he said, and reached over for the bottle. It was more than half gone now and the way he was drinking there would be even less.

"Oh, damnit," she swore, becoming disgusted with his constant need for drink. She wasn't sure what to do now, now that she was pretty drunk.

"Oh, shit."

"Did you spill?" she asked, smirking.

There was wine on the bed and the bottle in his hand, but he did not respond, rather smiled stupidly, rolling over on his side. It was clear that he was very aroused, evident by his erection and longing eyes, but what he was aroused for was unclear. He was a guy, and he was probably imagining Kate Upton humping him or something along those lines. Sora figured that grunting was the most she could get out of him, as drunk as he was. She wasn't doing very well herself, and stumbled a little as she flopped onto the bed. She felt like what she was doing was stupid, but she did nothing to stop herself.

"I'm sorta surprised you let me," Matt said, slurring heavily. "Why?"

"Caaaaause," she whispered, leaning in to his ear. "You wanted to. And it could've been funny."

"I wanted it," he mumbled. "I do?"

"Yeah, you do," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Do?" he asked, as if the word was meaningless.

"Oh, you fool," she said, smacking him. He didn't seem to notice it and lolled back over, spreading his legs and relaxing.

"I'm hungry," he murmured. "Did I drink too much?"

"Probably," she said.  
"Sora...can we dance?"

She paused for a moment. Was that a good idea? Not at all, but would it _harm _her? Probably not. She knew it was silly, but she didn't care.

"I...ye-"

"Ah nevermind I'm falling asleep," Matt corrected, suddenly changing his mind.

"You...what?" she asked, bewildered. He rolled over away from her, his head nestled into the pillow.

"Ehhhhh," he gurgled. "I wanna uhhh…"

"What the hell? What _do _you want?"

"Nah," he replied. "Sleep."

"Hey, come on!" she prodded him, trying to wake him. She herself was too drunk, and just sort of flopped up onto him, engaging in the most pathetic fall possible.

"Neh. Sleep," Matt replied, throwing her off a little. Sora, pissed off, wanted to try to smack him but what little kernel of logic remained told her that was a bad idea; if he wanted to sleep, she should sleep. That frustrated her further and she turned over away from Matt, now angry at him.

"Goodnight, then," she spat at him, turning away. She was starting to feel like shit, anyway, the fun of being drunk wearing off.

"Eh." He couldn't even speak actual words, just mumblings. She didn't bother responding. Closing her eyes for sleep, she began to dread the hangover in the morning. Bad decisions on Stallhart nights would come to haunt her when the sun came up.

VVVVV

Matt woke up with his head pounding and sweat pouring down his cheeks. The room was dark but not devoid of light, unfortunately; sunrays peered through the dirty windows and even a hint of light made Matt's head hurt. He wanted to go back to the sweet embrace of sleep, and ignore the throbbing hangover.

His conqueror sat on the table where it had remained, nearly empty after last night; Matt wished he could read the tiny print on the bottle towards the bottom, now revealed, but his eyes refused to focus well enough. He gave up after a time and resigned himself to groaning and trying to massage his temples back to life.

It took him a moment to notice Sora was no longer in his bed; curiously, she was totally missing, nothing but a crude imprint of her body left in the lumpy mattress. Where had she gone? He didn't have to wonder long, for she stumbled back into the room a bit later, supported by a rather uncomfortable-looking Yu Jin.

"You stupid...ass," Sora grumbled, sitting on the bed. Yu Jin stood by her, blanching pale and looking even more uncomfortable.

"I'll admit, it was a bad idea," Matt said, placing his hand over his eyes. The light burned and intensified the pain in his head, and he was glad Sora had not lit the torches.

"Sure was," Sora agreed. "_Your _bad idea."

"Whaaaat? You didn't stop me," Matt complained.

"I'm not supposed to stop you! You're supposed to stop yourself," she argued, sounding rather pained herself. "You take responsibility for yourself. Not I."

"Don't fuck with me," he warned. "I feel like I'm going to vomit."

"The, ah, chamberpot has been cleaned," said Yu Jin, her voice quavering. She looked ghastly pale when Matt looked up at her, almost as bad as Sora. "You may feel free-"

"I think I can manage, thanks," he said. Sora herself looked frazzled and bedraggled, her hair mussed and her clothing untidy. She had been vomiting, likely, which was why the servant girl had brought her back in.

"You should've stopped me, in fact. I was tempted to see what happened, but you should've-"

"Didn't you just tell me to take responsibility for myself? So why should I take responsibility for _you_?" asked Matt, confused. His head felt like it was stuffed with wet wool.

Sora gave him a disapproving look and he could not muster the strength to return it. "You're the lord of this castle," she reminded him sternly. "This bloody goddamn castle…"

"And how is that relevant?" he asked, trying to look her in the eyes. Yu Jin stood behind her, awkward as ever, while Sora stared him down.

"You are the _role _model. The role model for everyone!" she seethed. "Do you think you're being a good one right now?"

"I...yeah, no, that's true," he admitted, realizing he was making a poor impression on the servant girl. On everyone, really, after last night.

"So, you need to _be _that good one. You shouldn't have gotten piss drunk, that's the point," she said.

"Oh, who are you to judge?" he retorted. "You did it too."

"Are you putting blame on me?" she asked, insulted.

"Goddamnit, I'm not blaming you for _anything_...I think. I'm saying you drank too, so what does that make you?"

"I'm not the lord. That's the point," Sora rebuffed his argument.

"Son of a…"

"You're shirking your responsibilities. That's what I see," she said.

Matt was having difficulty putting up with this. His head screamed for peace and Sora would give him none. She was insistent on placing the blame on him, if only to absolve herself and make her feel better. That's what he was seeing.

"That's bullshit," he argued.

"My lord, Sergeant Stellmeier is waiting for you downstairs. He...has been, for a while," Yu Jin interjected, to break them off.

"She proves my point perfectly, Matt. Shirking," Sora said.

"Tell him I'll be _down in a minute_," he hissed at Yu Jin, who looked positively bewildered. "Damn."

"Get up. Get going. You've got things to do," Sora ordered, sitting up herself.

Matt did not take kindly to being commanded. "And what do you have to do? Sit around and watch the servants clean again?" he spat back, rolling over away from her.

"Fuck off," she swore at him, and left after Yu Jin. He was finally alone. Maybe she was pissed at him, and an angry hornet of a sergeant was waiting for him downstairs, but he was finally alone. He could rest easy for a couple minutes.

Matt pulled his erection out of his leggings and began to jerk off, caring little about visibility when there was no one in the room. Eyes closed, he imagined some fantasy girl falling to her knees to suck him off, and he went uninterrupted for the entire time as he pleasured himself. It helped him clear his head just a little; climax, and the clearance it brought with it, gave him the motivation he needed to get out of bed and throw on his old clothes. He didn't bother cleaning up after spilling on the blankets; he figured one of the servants would get it. That was their job, not his.

He felt wobbly as he left the room but proceeded downstairs as was necessary, knowing where he could find Stellmeier. Thankfully he ran into nobody on the way down; it was likely Sora was recovering with the servant girl's help, and was probably vomiting her guts out into the chamber pot. Matt felt less nauseous now, almost confident. That was until he met Teleraemon just a few doors before the topography room.

"My Lord, I was out at Castiron last night, all night pretty much, and-well, I can see what you were doing last night," Teleraemon observed, not bothering to hide behind a curtain of subtlety. On some level, Matt actually appreciated such honesty. He was not trying to kiss ass or suck up at all.

"Not gonna lie, I overdid it," he replied, rubbing his temples for emphasis.

"I can tell. No matter, as long as you're alive. I got a good look at Castiron and managed to get inside," Teleraemon continued, brushing the matter aside.

"You got in!? How?"

"Drainage gate," he explained. "It's only big enough for one man at a time, hardly a strategic vulnerability if you're considering an entire army. One man can get in there though, and I was able to get a look around and avoid detection."

"I'm impressed, then," said Matt.

"Don't flatter me. I don't appreciate flattery," Teleraemon scoffed. Brutal honesty once more, and although Matt was taken aback he did appreciate it. He would remember that.

"But I did see some things of interest. I will speak after we get to the sergeant," the scout said.

Matt had to confront the sergeant. He would certainly not be pleased to be held up, like so; Sora's words about shirking responsibility were still ringing in his ear, and he began to realize that maybe she was right. He sort of wished he hadn't been so harsh to her back there, as she had sounded genuinely insulted by his language.

"You're late."

Stellmeier's tone was genuinely confrontational; he sounded both disappointed and angry. Matt had to look the sergeant in the eyes and own up to his mistakes if he wanted to remain in his good graces.

"My apologies. I made a mistake," Matt confessed, looking him in the eyes. He figured Stellmeier would chew him out, but he made no move to do so.

"So I'm told," said the sergeant, his voice steely. "But you're here now. It is of no consequence-"

"The entire castle heard you, apparently. I'm told the servants-"

"_Avery_," he hissed. "Shut up."

Matt turned to see Avery Steadwin, face turning red as a beet, in the corner of the room to the left of the door, shirking away from the sergeant. He fell silent as ordered, even though he seemed to be eager to bite into Matt and taunt him. Matt was glad the sergeant refused to allow the youth to do so, sparing him some humiliation.

"Well, if we may begin, I successfully infiltrated Castiron," Teleraemon interjected, breaking their odd silence.

"You told me this already. We need to know what you said, though," said Stellmeier.

"Ah, right. Well, the castle's defenses have been upgraded...I can't tell what type of wood, but it looks like oak girding the gate. The walls haven't changed but they still stand, so that's an issue," Teleraemon carried on. Matt remembered now that someone had told him that Castiron's walls were stone, giving it a major advantage over Stallhart's poor defenses.

"And you went inside, yes?" Stellmeier asked.

"I was only able to operate with limitations there, sergeant," Teleraemon confessed, somewhat defensively. "I did not see much."

"Then what did you see?"

"Drunk guards and a lot of food being stocked," he replied. "Oh, and I did see the blacksmiths were all working even in the dead of night. Weapons are presumably being produced. And armor, too."

"Girding for war," muttered Stellmeier.

"Who is the lord of Castiron Hill?" Matt asked, out of curiosity.

"A low-ranking noble by the name of Dorian Pendleton," Stellmeier said. "I did some reading last night while you were..._sleeping_."

Matt knew he knew, but did not care. He was the lord of the manor, so why couldn't he enjoy it? At the same time, Sora's words rung in his head again...was she right, after all? It would be embarrassing for him if that were the case.

"He has been liege lord of Castiron Hill for fifteen years, and was instated after the political shakeup post-Caullon rebellion," the sergeant continued. "He was wooed by Arstas Thell, of course, and has since sworn fealty to Thellden."

"Which makes him our enemy. And my enemy," declared Avery. Nobody was really paying attention to him, not now.

"Is he experienced?" Matt asked.

"You should be concerned about him no matter what his experience is," Stellmeier chided him. "But yes. He's been in a few minor conflicts...Caullon's rebellion, fighting the Harvesters, and he's skirmished with another neighboring lord before. He's had a taste of blood."

"And you have not," said Avery, almost accusatory.

"Avery, if you cannot control yourself, you will leave this room," the sergeant seethed, not even bothering to turn and face the youth behind him. Avery fell silent again, shaking his head and burying his face against the wall.

"So he's preparing for war. Shouldn't we be?" Matt suggested.

"I beg your pardon, but he's far from being _ready _for war. We don't even know if it's a precautionary measure or an act of aggression," Teleraemon corrected.

"Scout has a point," Stellmeier agreed. "We also don't have the resources for an army."

"Well, I do believe the lines will be drawn soon. It's only a matter of time," Teleraemon added, extrapolating on his point.

"Aye, I agree," the sergeant said. "It is up to our lord, though, to decide what our course of action will be."  
They both turned to Matt. Even Avery, humbled by the gruff sergeant, peered over at Matt, waiting for him to say something, anything. Matt felt his head pound again as the relentless hangover attacked once more.

"Well, ah, what do you advise?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound clueless.

"Are you asking both of us?"

"Sure…"

"I cannot advise, but I will give Sergeant Stellmeier full power to do so," Teleraemon surrendered, stepping back from the table as a gesture of submission.

"I think opening diplomacy would be the best venue if you wish to go about this logically," Stellmeier advised, after a moment of thought.

"I would be one to agree. Aggression, especially unprovoked, is not a good idea," Teleraemon said.

"Aren't they the enemy though?" Matt asked, confused. His brain was too wracked with alcohol to process politics.

"Well, yes," Stellmeier said. "But that doesn't rule out diplomacy. An attache is at Stallhart, correct?"

"Riley Eston," Matt said, recalling her now. "I remember."

"She will do you a great service, I imagine, my Lord. She may very well be able to solve our issues with Castiron without a single drop of blood spilt."

"Well, that's optimistic," muttered Matt.

"Preferable to pessimism," Teleraemon quipped. "Well, in my opinion."

"We will need to think about military action though," Stellmeier said. "I would suggest, my lord, that you consider diplomacy before warfare, though."

"I will do that," Matt acquiesced. He wasn't in the mood to provide an alternate option, anyway.

"To the map. We need to plan," the sergeant ordered. "You too, Steadwin."

Avery snapped along without question or argument and fell in behind the sergeant, glancing daggers at Matt as they approached the wall map. Matt was still unfamiliar with all of the locations but knew where to find the two most important ones: Stallhart and Castiron Hill. Smack dab in the center of it all.

"Our forces are quite limited but if they attack us we have an advantage. The twenty acres or so south of the castle is peat marsh, on three sides really," Stellmeier explained, his hand making marks on the map where he was drawing out the marsh.

"They'll have a tough time getting through that," Matt observed, knowing full well how fighting in swamps happened.

"Precisely," the sergeant said. "That's where our advantage lies. The home turf."

"What about the villages?" Matt asked.

"If it comes to war we will have to bring the people into the castle. We cannot defend both. Maybe one, but not both. We do not have the resources for that," Stellmeier admitted. Avery looked rather defeated when he said that; it was clear he had some sort of attachment to those villages. Matt did not understand why, not yet.

"And what about if we have to attack Castiron?" asked Matt.

"Now that...that would be trickier," Stellmeier admitted.

"Taking that castle is all but impossible, it's because of those stone walls," Teleraemon said.

"They have more men than us, too," Stellmeier knew. "Thellden has outfitted them well. I imagine they're crafting good armor, are they not?"

"I couldn't tell," Teleraemon admitted, shrugging. "Too dark to see them working. But it is likely chainmail, standard but very protective."

"You've seen our soldiers, Lord Cook. They wear cloth and leather. They will not stand against soldiers armored in chainmail, even if they are still using spears and hammers," the sergeant warned him.

"Agreed," said Teleraemon. "This is why Sergeant Stellmeier is correct. Diplomacy should be our premier option."

"I agree, it's right," Matt said. "But...do you think it will actually come to war?"

Neither of them had an answer off the top of their heads. They stood there like statues, eyes glazing over, trying to think.

"I...I cannot say. I believe that cooler heads will prevail, come what may," Stellmeier spoke first.

"I think that, in cases like this, war is only a last option. There will be many other options considered," Teleraemon followed.

Neither of their answers were what Matt was looking for; vague and indecisive, they sounded like half-baked answers to a major issue. They were clearly dodging his question. Either they did not want to provide a real answer, or they did not have one. The latter possibility was considerably more frightening, for if the experienced soldiers did not know, how could Matt know?

He didn't want to think of his own answer. He just wanted to go back to bed. Mercifully Stellmeier dismissed him without further ado, and he headed back upstairs, his head pounding and his stomach lurching. He had made some bad decisions, and Stallhart morning was taking the piss out of him.

VVVVV

Simeon Thell had walked so far. Hundreds of miles he had suffered, through sharp gusts of wind and torrential downpours, ash showers and black nights. He had almost given up hope, but the sight of the gatehouse of the Ditch rising in the distance renewed his vigor and gave him reason to press on. Just a little bit farther.

His column of refugees, technically asylum seekers, had fled from the northern reaches of Thell territory to attain freedom from the brutal Thell rule. They had accrued a few others along the way, almost all of them fleeing from war, and were about to join the stream of humanity steadily dripping into the Ditch day after day.

He had not bothered to learn the names of any traveling with them. Why do that, if they were inevitably going to be split apart after a few days? He shared meals with them, and slept with them, and helped them collect resources during the journey, but there was no everlasting bond of friendship. They only stayed together because they needed to survive, and their destination was now at hand.

The group of eleven ragtag travelers wearily marched onto the cobblestone road leading to the Ditch, joining a throng of other equally ragtag refugees dressed in drab browns and grays and dusted with ash. Out here the ash had not collected as much; there were a few piles here and there, and it was scattered upon the ground in a light dusting, but nothing like it was further east. Simeon had heard the stories of ash three to four feet deep, burying the entire landscape beneath its gray blanket, and he was glad that the Ditch was away from the disaster.

He escaped notice, initially; abandoning his group of refugees without even a farewell, he joined the line waiting for inspection and processing at the gate. A few flecks of ash floated down from the dull sky above as he stood, pulling his torn cloak around him to protect against the cold. A chill wind blew out of the east, cutting through his pitiful clothing with ease.

The guards did not take much notice of him when they patted him down and took a number and name for him. He gave them a fake name, of course, in order to hide his true identity. It could only work for so long, but perhaps it would be enough time for him to disappear into the underbelly of the city and escape the authorities. Perhaps.

But it was not to be. Simeon knew his luck was running out when one of the processors frowned at him, grunted, and turned back to one of the supervisors overseeing the entire process. They began speaking in hushed tones, and a few of the guards manning the gate looked oddly at Simeon, as if there was something off about him. Simeon stood still and waited while attention began to pile onto him, and when the supervisor turned back around he looked him right in the eye. No point in fleeing; he could live if he stayed. Flight would get him killed.

"You don't seem to be...Theodore Heisenberg," the supervisor noticed, looking down at the logbook to see the fake name Simeon had provided. "Not at all."

"I am who I am," Simeon replied stoicly, knowing full well that his true identity had been noticed.

"Arrest him, but take good care," the supervisor ordered, recognizing the Thell. "Lord Walker will want him alive."

_Am I that valuable? Well, that's almost flattering_, thought Simeon, several guardsmen parting the surprised crowd and accosting him. He did not resist at all; why should he?

This could turn out very well for him if he spilled everything he knew...which he wholeheartedly intended to do. If Stanislaus Antar would not accept him, perhaps Leon Walker would.


	7. Towards the Uncertain

**Hello everyone! Just a short announcement/author's note today. I've started working six days a week, ten hours a day, and as you can imagine that makes writing a bit difficult - my time is very limited. I need the work to continue living (I'd like to do that, I enjoy living very much), but I hate to have it affect my writing so much. Therefore, there will definitely be longer update times between each chapter until the end of the summer, and I apologize for that. I figured I owed everyone a heads-up, though, and I hope it's a forgivable issue. If I happen to be laid off, well, expect to see an uptick in how many chapters I publish per week - although being laid off comes with a host of other problems. **

**Anyway, please enjoy, and I'll try to work as much as I can on the next one!**

Simeon was treated rather gently for whom he was. Technically the enemy, and a deserter at that, he was provided with an impressive amount of hospitality by the guards who escorted him down to the Third Level of the city. He had to wait briefly, arrested in the company of the guardsmen, but he was quickly taken through a side tunnel into the warren of hallways leading to the lord of the city.

Leon Walker was a pleasant man to be with, and quite well dressed too. Modest but proper, he evinced an aura of command and wisdom unmatched by most men, and Simeon was almost calmed by his presence. He did not smile but he shook hands when walking into the room, bid the guardsmen leave, and closed the door behind them.

"You've come a long way," Leon commented.

"I am no longer a Thell," stated Simeon.

"Your last name tells me differently." Leon looked at the paperwork reports the gate captain had given him. "Do you come to surrender, or to seek something else?"

"I am a traitor to my city," Simeon said. Why lie about it? He had nothing to gain from his connections back to Thellden.

"Interesting," Leon mused. "I remember you. I remember dealings with you. You were honest and fair, and more savory than the rest of your family."  
"That's not difficult to do," said Simeon flatly.

"Hah, well, that much is true," Leon said, dryly witty once more. "Why do you come here, though? Do be honest."

Simeon decided that was his best course. So he told his entire story, including the most important details and leaving out some fluff, and described the injustices delivered unto him while Leon listened. When he was finished, he sat back and let Leon speak again.

"You have been unfairly treated, that is clear enough," Leon acquiesced.

"I didn't come for pity, though," clarified Simeon. "I came to pick my side. Thellden has nothing for me anymore. Nor does Reinhardt."

"I see," said Leon.

"I have nowhere else to go, and I have no home. I wish to stand by the Alliance, for what it represents," Simeon declared.

"I understand that. But you realize that you're asking me quite a bit?"

"I do."

Leon waited a moment, to see if he would say something else. Simeon kept his mouth clamped shut.

"I do not trust you entirely...but I know you are not a liar. I am torn," Leon mused.

"What do I have to gain by lying?" Simeon asked honestly.

"A new home," Leon said, watching Simeon warily. "That is one thing, among others."

"I would rather receive it by honesty than dishonesty," said Simeon.

"If not for our past dealings I would not believe that," Leon said. "But you seem a different breed of Thell. You may be of use."

"I will do what I can-"

"I am leaving soon," Leon interjected, forcibly hushing Simeon, "but I will put you into the trust of Lord Erik Tanser. Hopefully he will not be seeking vengeance for the slaughter, and hopefully he will be willing to integrate you into our city. I, for one, believe that with a little proper assaying you will fit in well enough. If all goes well, you will be welcome here."

"Put in a good word for him, when you talk to him," Simeon pleaded.  
"I will ensure you stay safe," Leon promised. "You may very well be of use."

"I will do what I can," Simeon promised back.

"I trust you. Well enough...you will remain under guard arrest for a week so that you may be properly cross-examined and interrogated. Is that fine?" Leon rose from the table. The guards were coming back in again, and Simeon sensed the question was very much rhetorical. He did not reply, and departed Lord Walker's presence without another word.

This was already better than Thellden, he thought. He had a gut feeling that he would live through this.

VVVVV

The ash was falling thick again after a month's reprieve. The farther east the Xonos went, the more commonly it fell and the more it accumulated. Here it was only about two inches thick, insubstantial compared to the foot or so around Crestan, but enough to slow his army down a little. As large as it was, they moved slow enough already.

The decision seemed sound and logical back when they made it. After the engagement with Reinhardt forces, the Xonos had met with his team of officers to decide their best course south towards the rendezvous point. They all had desired to avoid conflict with Thellden and Reinhardt, and even the weaker Alliance, and had opted to swing east around the major cities instead of go directly south. It would take more time, but they all agreed it would be worth preventing material losses and irreplaceable casualties.

Now, trudging through ash, he was regretting the decision, just a little. He almost missed the green grass of the western Rush and Southrun.

They were a hundred miles from Thellden, but far from any Thell stronghold. The closest castle, New Charleston, was thirty miles away and did not send scouts out this far, and the massive phalanx had gone unnoticed while trekking through the edge of Alliance territory. They had come across a few villages, but they were either empty or the villagers fled on sight of the mighty army. Those that didn't had plenty of regrets about not doing so, certainly.

He finally made his way to his tent and parted the guardsmen to enter, desirous to take care of his business. He had letters to write, missives to send, if only to allow his gambit to proceed. A few officers were taking care of quartermaster paperwork within his tent, but he was allowed to head to his desk unmolested by them. They all had their orders, and would not trouble him.

Sitting down to pen and paper, the Xonos began to think about what would work best. He needed the right words to spur his opponents - both of them - into the actions he wanted. He wanted to write to Thellden first; whoever his Thell benefactor was, they could be more important than the loyal Kleisardathans on the shore. He decided to take care of them first.

The letter to Thellden was simple; he expressed himself very articulately and ensured that he enshrined his mysterious benefactor as the superior man, using fluid diction to "suck up", in a sense. It felt almost vile to write such a thing, given his own inflated ego, but he managed to close up the letter and hand it to one of his officers, who would take it to the messenger. Meet him at Redtimber Watch, it had said; a simple proposition that could not be ignored. It was likely whoever was reading the letter would not see the gambit behind the words.

With the other Xonos, he had to be much more careful. This unknown Thellden benefactor may be slow or lacking in wit; the Xonos, however, was definitely a crafty and unpredictable opponent. Every Xonos was, and the ones who were lacking became weak and succumbed quite quickly. The Archon, whomever he was, would have certainly picked him for his brutality, his cunning, and his quick thinking. He would be dangerous, and Mallistron pondered the best way to goad him towards Redtimber Watch. He had to think for a bit, and began the message as officially as possible.

_Dear Respectable Xonos,_

_Having received your previous missive and having dispatched one to you, I intend to accept your offer and will acquiesce myself and my command to your person as soon as possible. Regrettably, respectable Xonos, I am not near enough yet and wish to arrange a location to turn myself and my command over to your hand. I will be moving south to Redtimber Watch, thirty miles from your location and in a neutral zone, in order to bring this rendezvous about. I respectfully request that you meet me there, and I will willingly surrender myself. _

_Warmest regards,_

He couldn't bring himself to write his name. He simply put "_Mallistron_", thinking that ought to serve. His stationary and handwriting would be familiar, anyway, as would the language. WIth luck, the current Xonos would accept this proposition. If not, Mallistron might have to rethink his plans.

He dispatched the letter to the necessary messenger and hoped it would be able to get out. With luck, it would be convincing enough, and his plan would fall into motion with ease.

VVVVV

Weak sunlight filtered in through the collapsed ceiling as the sun briefly shone down on the ruins of Milltown. The reprieve from the gloom lasted only a few minutes though, and as Lord Kleiner trudged through the grim skeleton of the council chambers the illumination faded, leaving the ashy entry hall devoid of life. Kleiner's skeleton crew didn't even bother to light the torches anymore; if anyone needed to see in the dark corridors of the collapsing building, they would carry a candle with them. He did not deign to carry a candle with him this time, though; he could find his way to his office in the dark just fine, being quite familiar with the passageway.

He struggled through a surprisingly thick pile of ash to open his office door, and found that part of the ceiling had caved in during his recent inspection of the city. The damage was slight, just some of the wooden beams rotting off, but it left his office looking even more untidy than before. He stepped over some of the moldy wood disgustedly, and sat at his desk to mull over the necessary business of the day.

He had to wait for Shen and Cobb, and what better way to spend his waiting time then considering the plethora of problems assaulting him every day? Simply glancing out his window overlooking the river he could see a few sentry camps set up on the eastern side, watching the dying city with gruesome interest. The undead did not dare attack Milltown outright, but resorted to ambushing scouting parties and skirmishing with Kleiner's forces, at least for now. With time, they would try again.

He finally had a map on his wall, although it was crudely drawn and recently made in order to assist strategic planning. What little "planning" Kleiner was able to do he conducted in his pitiful office, with his sergeants clustered around the table looking at the map querulously. It was pathetic compared to other armed forces, but what could Kleiner really do in his current state? Lacking in supplies, horrifically disorganized and suffering in morale, his army could only do so much to fight the enemy. They wouldn't last much longer, and they needed new options. And that's why he was calling Shen and Cobb.

Both of them arrived quite punctually, filing in one after the other into his office. Both of them noticed the damaged ceiling, but mentioned nothing of it out of a sense of professionalism. They were all quite used to decay and destruction on a much larger scale, so perhaps that was why it went undiscussed.

"Inspection of the city went well," Kleiner began as they sat down. "Little has changed."

"My lord, some buildings are beginning to fall apart. The lack of maintenance is killing us," Cobb the engineer warned.

"And so are the skeletons," Shen rebuffed him. "Let's worry about old buildings later, and worry about the enemy now. That is what we're discussing, correct?"

"Sort...of," said Kleiner. "I need…I need eyes. Scouts, scouting parties, to get me information on the surroundings west of the river. I know too little, and I need to be better informed."

"Aye, I would agree," Shen said. "But we have a lot of other problems too."

"I will take care of as much as I can. I want this scouting done, though. And I want to get repairs going on the north barracks wing, if possible," Kleiner ordered. Damaged during the siege, the north wing needed repairs so the barracks smiths could work again. No smiths meant no weapons, and no weapons meant trouble.

"I think that can be done-"

"But you, Cobb, I want you on one of the search parties," Kleiner interrupted before Cobb could leap upon the job.

"M-me, m'lord?" Cobb stuttered, glancing at Shen as if confused. "Were you asking _me_?"

"That's why I called you here," said Kleiner.

"I am no warrior," Cobb declared anxiously.

"I trust you, and you're a dedicated follower. It should not be difficult, but you will travel far. I think the city can survive without you for a week or two," Kleiner argued, casually breaking Cobb's argument. The engineer could not defy an order, of course, so he submitted.

"As you wish, m'lord," he said, bowing his head.

"And for me, sir?" asked Shen.

"Well, you will be scouting too," said Kleiner, turning to the wizened sergeant. "I give you twenty men each. That's a fair allotment, and a lot of soldiers for our skeleton force."

"Where will you have us go, though?"

"I want you to take to Crestan," he ordered Cobb. "And you, Shen, to New Connaught. The capital may be far more dangerous due to the volcano, so do not be putting your men at any unnecessary risk."

"I will take caution, my lord," Shen promised. Kleiner had no doubt he would, but it would not be an easy task; the lava flows had likely swamped the city and left little but rooftops to be scoured. There would be little to find in that wasteland.

"What will we be looking for?" Cobb inquired.

"Anything. I want everything to be reported back to me, any observations of interest or any objects you recover. We are like archaeologists, scouring ruins," Kleiner mused.

"And what if we find people, m'lord?" Cobb asked hesitantly. "Should we...ah…"

Kleiner didn't know a good answer for that question. Truth was, there would be little chance of finding _anybody_ outside of Milltown, not even the enemy. The western shore was simply deserted now, as all of the refugees had starved, departed or become rabid.

"Treat them at your discretion. I cannot make a general decision for that," he finally admitted, grimacing. They all knew it was an insufficient answer.

"Begging your pardon, m'lord, but I didn't expect to find anybody…"

"Nor would I," he agreed. "You will likely find only ash and ruin. That is our province now, it would seem. But we need to be familiar with this new world, nevertheless."

"We will do as commanded," Shen said, ending the subject to Kleiner's relief. He wanted to hear no more about death and destruction. He was surrounded by it, unable to escape.

"Dismissed, soldiers. Rest up and pick your men. I give you freedom to do so."

The sergeants saluted and bowed, as per custom, and departed. They would leave at their own discretion, too, but he knew they would not dally on such a matter. Something this important would have them out the northern gate by sunrise, likely; Shen, especially, would be gone quick and back in good time.

It was, indeed, unlikely anything of value would be found in either city. They were definitely deserted, and even though the undead army had managed to attack Crestan before, when he controlled the city, they had been forced back to the other side of the river, and the bridges had since been destroyed. The only bridge remaining, apparently, was his - the one strewn with rusting armor and bleached bones after the great battle.

As he left the office for the night he reflected on the late Rolfs and the late Kastner and the late Brennan, Caullon and Tanner and Kenly, Thompson and Partridge and Lanos, all long passed. How did he, James Kleiner, survive when the others had died one after the other, in such brutal succession? In the span of ten years all of those houses had been brought to destruction and hardship, most of them in the past year. How had Kleiner, his estates ruined and his treasuries devastated, manage to pull through when they didn't?

He didn't have an answer, but he continued to question it. Maybe soon he would be able to find that answer; for now, he decided to continue to survive. He looked out the window and, in the dying light of day, saw even more campfires than before. The enemy was beginning to gather again, ever so slowly, and he knew they were waiting for the city to die.

They were able to bide their time; he could not. He had to act soon.

VVVVV

North Driftmist lived up to its name the day Aeric's party prepared to leave. The streets were shrouded in fog and the oil lamps hanging from their poles did little to disperse the thick mist. The air outside, crisp and chilly, made heavy clothing a necessity, as Aeric discovered when he stumbled into the cool dawn and was left shivering after a minute.

Most of the party was slow to wake but those who had gotten up were sharing a pithy breakfast and donning chainmail and heavy leather clothing, both for warmth and protection. Aeric had heard a few stories of the roaming nomads and war parties between Dwerhold and North Driftmist, no longer wondering why the party members were gearing up so heavily.

Aeric helped himself to some crusty bread and cold butter while waiting for everyone else to wake. He had an outfit of armor and warm clothing for himself, provided graciously by Anoth, but had no idea how to put it on and let it sit at the seat beside him, untouched.

The aforementioned great bear of a man was already slugging down ale at the counter, but he was making little trouble and remained quiet as the inn came to life sluggishly and more gruff, brutish men struggled down the stairs for breakfast. Aeric stayed out of their way as they chatted and barked orders at the stablehands; he was waiting for Will, who was hopefully washing up by now.

Will emerged a little later, his hair mussed and face red but otherwise looking enthusiastic and cheerful, abnormally so. He carried his own armor and clothing with him, likely provided by Anoth as well.

"Cheery this morning, aren't we?" Aeric mused as Will strode over to his table.

"I'm actually a little excited," he admitted. "Isn't that surprising?"

"I'm just glad that you are, that's all," said Aeric. "Food?" He offered the loaf of bread to Will, who only grabbed a small slice with no butter.

"I'll have a little," Will explained. "I don't want too much, spoil my appetite for lunch."  
"Ibin's buying more on our way out, so we can keep plenty for the road. I think he said we'll be leaving in about an hour," Aeric informed him.

"Mmkay," Will murmured, stuffing his face with bread. He smiled awkwardly at Aeric, his face flushing as he tried to keep the food in his mouth.

"Hungrier than you thought, eh?"

"Eh," Will returned, mumbling incoherently. "I just wanted a bite, that's all."

"That was more than a bite," joked Aeric.

Will swallowed. "Are you ready?"

"To go?"

"Yeah...you think you're ready?" he reiterated.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess...and you?" asked Aeric.

"I think this could be fun," Will admitted, smiling. "Or at least, y'know, adventurous. You were right."

"As I always am," Aeric joked.  
"Oh, don't push your luck," Will shot back, smirking. He bowed his head a little after that. "I'm sorry about all that before... I don't know why it happened, it just-"

"We can forget about it," Aeric cut him off. "Don't apologize, there's no need."

"Okay," Will said surprisingly sheepishly, his head still hanging. "I...yeah. I was a dick."

"You were a little. But you're with us now," Aeric said. Will smiled back cheerfully, his brisk attitude pervading his grin.

They sat together and watched as the inn came to life. Anoth, fully dressed in mail and helm, was by far the most imposing figure in the room, and already preparing to leave. Even Rikken and Ibin were quiet before him, dressing in their armor without a word. As breakfast finished the inn room became quiet, and both boys returned to their quarters to dress and prepare themselves.

They didn't really have armor, besides leather, but it was enough to both protect them and keep them warm. Anoth had provided it, completely for free, on the provision that they stood by their promise and stayed with the company.

"Enjoy the warm water." Aeric motioned towards the wash basin. "We won't have it for long."

"I'm gonna miss it," Will mused, washing his face with a warm cloth.

"Dress warm, too…"

"How long do you think we'll need to get to Dwerhold?" Will asked, pulling a leather cuirass over his shirt.

"About a week and a half, I think Rikken said. I honestly don't remember," said Aeric. "Just be prepared."

"I _am_ ready," Will reiterated, his attitude a complete 180 from a few days ago. Something in his mind must've clicked. Perhaps the argument had finally become sufficient.

"Are you sure?" Aeric asked teasingly, strapping his own cuirass.

"You did a fine job of being convincing," Will admitted, wrapping his arms around his partner's waist. "If it had been anybody else, well…"

"Don't flatter me like that," Aeric sighed, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes. Will laughed and leaned in for a hug.

"Aeric, you've got a way with me. Just be nice about it," he asked softly. "No taking advantage of it."

"I promise," Aeric said. He hugged his partner even tighter, just to be safe. A little love could be his shield on the long road ahead.

What little belongings they had were packed and prepared, and they left their room bare and relatively clean. Slinging packs over their shoulders, they returned to the common room and followed some of the men into the stables, where horses were being prepared.

"We ride two abreast, in a line," Anoth barked, already mounting his warhorse. "Stay organized as best as possible."

One of the stableboys handed both Aeric and Will a horse, and they mounted the beast and fell into line, silent in the face of the leader's commands.

Anoth, having taken command from Rikken, led the column out of the stables, two by two. Mailed men dressed in furs and leather, astride on powerful destriers, made for quite a scene. Will and Aeric, with their smaller stature and less imposing figure, were almost invisible within the mass of adventurers trooping solemnly out of the stables, moving down the city streets. The few pedestrians who were about at the hour stayed to the sidewalk and either averted their eyes or stared warily at the passing party. Aeric could see plenty of haggard figures and weary facades amongst the populace, indicating the city was still definitely recovering.

They passed through the center of the city and hit the main boulevard, heading north. Many of the market stalls they passed were only now opening, stocked with a pitiful assortment of mediocre wares expressing anything but prosperity. The scene was grim, even though Ibin had been optimistic about the city's future upon arrival; perhaps he ought to check his optimism, Aeric thought. He was glad to leave the city behind.

The mist was clearing as the morning sun flooded the plains and glimmered off the distant, snow-capped peaks of the Rokyal Range. Farther south the grim ash cloud loomed, shrinking but still malevolent, but this far northwest it had no influence. The sun caressed the grassland and Aeric felt warm within his leather armor despite the chill breeze rushing down from the slopes.

They moved north towards the birch forests, cool meadows and rocky cliffs of Surrey. That day they passed out of Connaughtsshire and into no man's land.

VVVVV

"We take the Great River up, past the Capion Hills, through Redwoods, and we can gather supplies at Old Marken," Herobrine thought aloud, studying the continental map. "We'll need a better ship, too."

"Going upriver?" Leon fretted. "That's…"

"Not easy, but would you rather go downriver?" asked Hero.

"I'd prefer to live, thanks," said Leon. Downriver would take them straight through Thellden; it would be imminent death, no matter what they did. The city controlled the river in Connaughtsshire, and that left them with only one option if they wanted to leave within a week.

"As would I," Herobrine agreed, tracing the meandering river with a thick finger. "We'll have to row upriver, but it'll be good for your lats, eh?"

"Wow, you're incredibly optimistic," Leon smirked. "I'm still worried about Capion."

"Too far from shore to be a problem," Hero dismissed him. "The fishing villages won't be a bother, even though Reinhardt men are likely stationed there."

"And what about Old Marken? What makes you think they'll help us?"

"They're neutral, we've got money, they want to keep their trade flowing. Why would they deny us?" Herobrine posited. There was no reason, but Leon remained skeptical. They had been planning this for weeks and weeks, and just leaving Connaughtsshire was trouble enough. How were they going to cross the _world _if they couldn't even sail out of the province?

"Hmmm, you're running far on circumstance here. Wing and a prayer, eh?" Leon asked.

"We're not even to the hard part yet," Herobrine reminded him, his tone grimly inflected. "What lies further ahead is worse. I have found another location."

"Do tell," he said, making a move to mark it on the map.

"A place called Norzinudh," said Herobrine. "You would have never heard of it, and the name only barely registers for me."

"Where?"

"Southern tip of the Cay, before the Great Divide, and up at the foot of the mountains. An ancient city, long abandoned to its haunted demise," he said.

"Oh, well, that sounds just lovely," Leon snorted. He marked a little X towards the southwestern edge of the map. "Where did you hear this?"

"The library is an invaluable tool, if you know how to use it," said Hero.

"The damn Archlibrarian never tells me anything," Leon swore. "Well, anywhere else?"

"Not yet. Once we get to B'aileth, I can look into their archives. They will have texts far more ancient," Herobrine assured him.

"What about Carl Manneh?" Leon inquired, now removing the map from the wall and rolling it up for travel.

"It's doubtful he'll know anything," Hero said glumly. "Markus would have, but-"

"Yes, yes, I know, _dead_," Leon scoffed, stowing the map in one of the many packs lying on the floor. "Lots of people are dead, he's just another number in the body count over here."

For a moment Hero was at a loss for words. Leon looked up from his travail and for the first time in recent memory he saw a palpable sadness in the normally stoic immortal's eyes. Fear and pain were foreign feelings for Hero; when they happened, it was clear something had shaken him.

"That was insensitive," Hero said , his voice stony.

"I'm sorry," said Leon, feeling rather awkward now. "I'm quite...anxious. I didn't mean to be like that."

"Anxious about?"

"All of this," Leon said.

"I would be too if I were you. This will be no laughing matter. Plenty more will die before we reach our final skull, I can assure you," said Hero, relaxing now. The moment had passed, but Leon knew those words would stay with Hero for a while. He had been stung, clearly.

"I was hoping you'd be a little more comforting than that," said Leon.

"I'm afraid that's the best I can do. We have to come to terms with the issue at hand," Hero warned.

They were interrupted by a knock at the conference room's door. The guards outside must've accosted a visitor. It was possibly something related to Simeon Thell, given that he was being gently interrogated at the moment, but Leon had the gut feeling it was something else. The knock was unusually urgent.

"Message?" asked Leon when one of the guards handed him not a scroll, but a printed letter.

"Messenger already left. He had this for you, though," the guard said. Leon could already see the name at the top right-hand corner, that old familiar nomenclature.

"Liam fucking Caldwell, finally punctual," Leon swore, poring over the letter with elation.

"Dr. Caldwell?"

"The very same." Leon folded up the letter once finished. "His first set of supplies and personnel will be arriving tomorrow, just on time."

"What's he bringing?" Hero asked.

"Whatever we might need," said Leon with a devilish smile. "I hear he has a few helicopters in his possession."

"Do you think he will get along with Erik?"

"Lord Tanser will have to make do if he doesn't like Liam," said Leon. "We need his support. He's got a lot that we don't have, to put it lightly."

"Make sure he knows who he's dealing with," Herobrine said. "Dr. Caldwell lives by a set of standards that might be quite alien to Lord Tanser."

"I'll brief him good and proper," Leon promised. "It's his problem now. I'll leave a note for Liam, that's the best I can do."

"So you're all ready, then?" Herobrine asked. He was already packed, and needed little. Leon had been busy preparing their three ships and all of the goods and personnel, while Herobrine had packed only for himself.

"Old Marken, here I come," Leon joked, chuckling awkwardly. Herobrine was not amused, and rather quickly vanished out of the room, teleporting to wherever he had decided to go. Clearly he was rather affronted by what Leon had said earlier, and had decided to take a breather. Leon didn't blame him; even immortals had their bad days.

He could confirm, looking at the map stowed in one of the travel containers. They were about to go a _long _way.

VVVVV

Shandra let Keldon run through his business, unwilling to interrupt him. If the assembly had been held yesterday, she would have been fretful and anxious, and would likely have tried to seize the soapbox from him. But today she found herself relaxed and aloof, listening to him run his mouth wildly in front of the entire assembly of nobility and elites. Why should she care? Let him undermine his own position, it would happen eventually.

Keldon had fallen in love with his power. Arms raised, voice booming, he spoke to the entire audience, who pretended to be enraptured. Where Arstas had once stood, Keldon had now taken his place, and was somehow doing an even poorer job. Shandra had control of the situation, though, and that's why she let him play his hand.

The three rogue guardsmen had been sentenced to death by his hand; they were led away as some of the elites in the assembly applauded his decision. Keldon, decked in ornate iron armor and wearing a flowing lavender cape, looked either ridiculous or majestic, depending on your opinion of him. Shandra watched as he stalked back and forth on the dais, waiting for the prisoners to be dragged away, before continuing.

"It is my duty to dispense justice within this city," he began anew, speaking to all. "Those who oppose me, and those who oppose my house and the law, will suffer thusly."

He was making an example of the prisoners, Shandra knew. Arstas would've done the same thing, and she realized Keldon most certainly took from his father. He had learned at least a few things from his bloodthirsty, gluttonous sire.

"All hail the wise words of the High Lord," one of the men on the dais cried, and the assembly replied. Strategic submission, Shandra knew, and she smiled despite herself. Keldon looked rather pleased at the reception he had been given.

"But I cannot do it alone," he continued, speaking to all in turn. "I have my wings, my fists, my eyes who watch the city for me. My knights, vizier, councillors, and lords." He swung his arm back to them and the assembly applauded for them. Even the aged vizier, nearly senile now, looked rather invigorated by the reception he had been handed.

"They stand by my side, as they did for my father, and for that I am grateful," said Keldon, bowing his head and placing a fist upon his chest. The gesture was received well, and even Shandra felt a little touched by it. It seemed genuine, but she knew where his true intentions lay; he was trying to soften some sort of blow.

"This service will not go unnoticed," he declared. "I am announcing the erection of a great monument in the center of our city, where the names of these fine men will be enshrined into stone!" A burst of applause followed that announcement.

He continued. "None of them will be forgotten. None of the men of Thellden shall go unnamed...and we must remember them, lest we forget how much we contributed. Some of their time has come, of course...hence why we must enshrine them in our history forever." That was where the confusion began, and even Shandra took a moment to figure out what he was saying. Only when she saw him turn to the vizier did she realize what was going on.

"Old age renders us, unfortunately, incapable of usefulness. It is a sad fact of society. This does not mean that one vanishes from the public sphere, they simply become part of history, a name that will sound through the ages," he said, directing himself to the vizier in particular. The old man looked positively aghast when he realized where Keldon was going. He dared not protest, but his frail body twitched as two knights stepped up to him to escort him from his seat.

"Our vizier has serviced this city for a long time, but his retirement has come. Both of us agree on this fact," said Keldon. The vizier clearly did not agree but did not protest or argue even as his successor, a young and hale-looking youth, rose from the front row of the assembly and strode confidently up onto the dais, taking the seat.

"Jonathan Sardisson will be taking the seat of our revered old vizier, and will be living up to his legacy to his fullest ability," Keldon announced, and the new vizier was given a fair round of applause from the bemused but acceptive assembly. Keldon continued after that, naming six new men and replacing old members of the council. None of them went out fighting, meekly accepting the decision and allowing themselves to be escorted back into the keep while their younger replacements took their seats and made themselves comfortable. Shandra looked on with a mix of curiosity and horror as she saw her council, appointed by her own hand, collapse before her eyes. She knew calling him out would only bring the wrath of the assembly on her head; they trusted and loved Keldon for his charisma and confidence, and every day Shandra's influence and power over them shrank. Today was not an exception to that pattern.

After replacing most of the council members, Keldon made himself a mouthpiece again, taking to the soapbox to denounce his enemies and decry their barbarity. That was typical of him, and had been typical of Arstas too; propaganda to fool the masses, to accrue support and assistance from those who could not reach their own conclusions about the world. It would work remarkably well, too - the assembly hung upon every word Keldon said, and even some of the councilmen listened to him with awe. Shandra awaited her turn to speak, letting Keldon do as he pleased; she would have her chance eventually, and she was patient.

He took half an hour to deliver his grand address, but as he retreated to thunderous applause Shandra saw her opportunity and rose, forcing heads to turn as she took to the center of the dais. Keldon stood by, looking irritated but certainly not angry, and he kept his silence as she began to speak.

"Our High Lord, most gracious as he is, is correct when he says we are beset by enemies," Shandra spoke. "Yet there is no reason to fear. Even now, our army marches north and will most certainly return home with victory and glory." She was resting all of her hopes on that victory happening; if Lord North were defeated in combat, it would trash all of her plans.

"I am certain, too, that victory will be ours," Keldon said. "What are you getting at?" His tone stung of irritation and provocation, and Shandra knew she was stealing his limelight. She had to make this fast, before he grew angry.

"I believe that, with this victory written in the stars, we must celebrate it," Shandra expounded. "Is there any disagreement to that?"

"None at all," said Keldon, letting her continue.

"Premature, perhaps, but I have faith in our fighters," Shandra said. "We must ease war weariness in our city, and give the people a way to express their gratitude and joy. Thus, a festival will be in order."

"I must agree," said Keldon. "There is nothing that-"

"We must plan accordingly, of course," she interrupted him, trying to keep him as silent on the matter for as long as she could. "Do you believe we have the finances for this matter?" She turned to the new finance advisor for this. A plump, fragile-looking man, he hardly appeared to be suited for the job, given how much he was sweating now that Shandra was focused on him.

"I...yes, m'lady - and M'Lord - I do believe that we, ah, do," he stammered. Keldon dared not speak, nor compromise the judgment of his chosen advisor, lest he make himself appear weak. He looked aggravated that Shandra was doing the talking to his appointees and not he.

"Then there is nothing stopping us!" she declared heartily.

"I was going to say that," muttered Keldon, just loud enough for Shandra and the council to hear.

"The council would appear to rule in favor of such a measure. We would have to convene, but it is likely we would favor this," the new vizier, Sardisson, interjected.

"I will overrule that. I am in favor, and so are you," Keldon said, gritting his teeth. He was plainly unhappy about agreeing with his mother, but arguing with her would undermine his position. Nobody could be unhappy about a festival, especially in a time of war when a morale boost was necessary. As long as the treasury could pay for the endeavour, it would receive a green light.

"Then plans will be made, yes?" Shandra asked. Keldon nodded, his eyes steely. "I believe that I am done here. You may continue with your business." She casually, pleasantly, returned to her seat as Keldon set his jaw, displeased with the turn of events. Shandra was anything _but _displeased. Her plan had gotten off to a good start, and she had just scored a point against Keldon.


	8. What We Believe In

**Hello everybody! I apologize for the timespan of this update. Between six days a week of work and seeking an internship for next year I've had little to no time to write, and I've been suffering from a block as well. I've been working slowly on this, though, and I'm also about halfway through the next chapter - which should be out sooner, rather than later. Apologies again for the delay, and enjoy!**

**VVVVV**

Dark and dreary, the undercity of Thellden was no place for any human being. Some still came down there, but they found nothing but dim tunnels, cold rocks and fetid water. Below that, there was nothing but endless caves and lifeless earth, and for that reason even fewer went further. On this particular day, the Enderborn felt like the only being in that labyrinth, living or dead. There weren't even any rats or bats, just an empty silence.

Except there was supposed to be someone else here. He hadn't leapt across the province for no entertainment, he had reason to be here. That reason had not appeared yet, but it shouldn't be much longer now. He would wait patiently, standing in pitch blackness but able to see just enough to discern his surroundings. The darkness, enemy of living beings, was his friend and accomplice, and gave him support that light and life could not. The darkness was the Void, and as he was part of the Void he was, too, part of the darkness.

His protegé came soon enough, traipsing through the darkness with a lit torch in hand. His connection to the Void was clearly weaker; whereas the Enderborn found the touch of darkness warm and comforting, this human seemed threatened by it. He had been forced to light his way with the torch, and moved slowly and uncertainly as if he felt uncomfortable in his surroundings. Only when the Enderborn stepped into the light and revealed his presence did the newcomer appear comfortable.

He was a man of broad stature, with a chiseled face and sharp chin. His facial features were relatively generic, indistinct from those of most humans, but he was well-dressed and wore a brilliant silver fleur-de-lis pendant around his neck. It was his most distinguishing trait due to how it shone in the fire's light.

"I was afraid that I had gone the wrong way," the Thellden man confessed, smiling. It was not a warm smile at all; cold and devoid of emotion, it was a simple gesture and lacked genuine human qualities. That was some comfort there - the less human this new _pawn _was, the more useful he might be. He may very well become a powerful weapon in the Enderborn's growing arsenal, if he invested himself in the Void more.

"You walk with light. That is unfortunate," the Enderborn pointed out. The human dropped his torch and extinguished it with his boot, stomping the light out and kicking the tiny embers aside, scattering them.

"It was necessary," the man said, shrugging. He did not flinch or cower, however, when the dark enveloped him. That was what the Enderborn had hoped for, and he was satisfied with the apprentice's reaction.

"You will not need it much longer. You must become one with the darkness," the Enderborn told him, kicking the torch's handle aside.

"So I am told," the man said. "Your master has spoken to me. Only twice, but he has told me where my calling lies. I am prepared to do what I must."

"Are you?" the Enderborn asked. It was a rhetorical question, and he decided to launch into the necessities. "I need you to undermine your masters, betray your allies, disrupt your enemies and turn life into death. Can you do that?"

"I believe I can," the man promised.

"We will see. You must abandon the light first, though," said the Enderborn. "Light is lie-"

"_And darkness is truth_," the man interjected, finishing the Enderborn's sentence for him. "I have been taught about the Void. I know what power lies in blackness."

"Well, I see." He did not take too kindly to being interrupted, especially by a mortal human. With time, perhaps, this _man _might accrue the powers necessary to live within the simulation. But for now, he was just a part of it, outside of its apparatus, apart from the Void and the truth. The Enderborn did not fully trust him and his capabilities yet, even though his master had spoken positively about him.

"I am willing to begin, though. I was told that-"

"You will continue to blend into the human populace as you have been," the Enderborn interrupted him, realizing that he could not stay for much longer. "That is all for now. We are still preparing, and biding our time."

"Yes, but for how long?" asked the protegé.

"Patience," the Enderborn ordered, now visibly irritated. The man noticed this, and his visage sank noticeably.

"The time will come. That is all I have for now, all the orders I was given," said the Enderborn.

"Forgive me, sir...I-"

"Everything is forgiven to the loyal. I must depart, but I expect you to stay quiet and let nothing be seen amiss. We cannot make our move yet," the Enderborn said, insinuating a return quite soon. "Can you find your way back?"

"I will...do my best," the man promised, turning towards the dark corridor behind him.

"That's the spirit. I am sure you can if you focus. The darkness is your friend, and in time will become your greatest ally."

The Enderborn smiled only a little at his own advice, and then vanished into thin air, leaving the man consumed in blackness. He would find his way out, sooner or later.

VVVVV

The engineer was gone, and now Kleiner was regretting his decision.

Faced with the collapsed roof in the barracks' mess hall, and no professional hand to fix it, he was quickly becoming frustrated as there was no way to work around the problem without Cobb. He could have the men work up a makeshift tarp and throw it over the crevasse, but it would be a half-assed solution at best. He needed Cobb, but the engineer had already departed northwest towards Crestan. It was simply poor timing, he wanted to say. But he felt like he was at fault.

He conferred with a few of the corporals in the barracks about the situation, but there was little else to be done about it. The gaping hole in the wooden roof left the mess hall exposed to the elements, and ash filtered in through the dirty sunlight streaming into the building. In this state the hall would quickly become unusable.

Kleiner swept some ash aside into a pile and stalked out of the barracks, leaving the corporals to scratch their heads and figure out how they could feed their grunts without a working mess hall. There really _was _no solution, not yet, other than find another location. They would likely come back to him within an hour, bleating and begging him to solve the problem. The lower ranks relied on him so much, as much as they adored him for being the savior of the town.

He returned back to the council chambers feeling drained and despondent. The atmosphere of the town was always bleak and depressing, but today the environment felt even more hostile. On the trip back to the chambers, he saw only a single non-military persona, and they were silently sweeping ash off of their doorstep. The guards stood on street corners and in the city square diligently, but they only bowed their heads as Kleiner passed. Everyone remained silent, muffled by the suffocating blanket of solemn darkness laying upon Milltown. It began to rain ash again as Kleiner passed his mount off to a stable boy and headed into the chambers.

A guard carrying a candle met Kleiner at the entrance and handed him one of the tinderboxes they used to light the candles around the chambers. Making his way to his office, Kleiner lit just enough wicks to light his way, leaving the other hallways and rooms enveloped in darkness. His own office normally received enough natural light that it didn't need a candle, at least not in the afternoon. The east-facing window was dirtied with coarse ash, however, which blotted out what little light filtered in through the glass. Kleiner was forced to light a pathetic stub of candle and sit at his desk, faced with a host of problems.

Sergeant Connor was the only one to knock at his door. None of the guardsmen came seeking him, the corporals remained at their barracks, and there were no servants demanding his attention or his orders. Only Connor, the erratic, strange young sergeant who had proven his skill in both dark pessimism and leadership skills.

"Sergeant Connor?" Kleiner asked dryly, admitting him in.

"The envoy left south, m'lord. I'd wish him godspeed, but I don't think even that can save him. I hear the roamin' refugees would love some horsemeat," said Connor, bowing stiffly as he entered the room and stood before Kleiner. His dark humor was not appreciated, and fell flat.

"Did you make sure he was riding our best mount?" Kleiner ignored the joke.

"I had the stable master choose the horse, he said it was the best he could do. Said it could get him to Moon's Eye within ten days," Connor replied.

"That's as good as I'll get, I suppose?"

"I don't think they'll like your demand, m'lord. They might just laugh you off, you know Cymander," warned Connor. He was hardly a professional on the matter of feudal politics, but everyone knew how Cymander treated the rest of the world. When matters got hot, he would turtle up and wait for the storm to blow over, and that storm was here now.

"I don't, really. He was never present at most council meetings, back when Kastner held them," Kleiner admitted. "But I'm familiar with how he acts. He won't reach out to help us."

"Well, ah, not to be offensive, m'lord...but why'd you order me to send an envoy, then?"

"It's worth a try," said Kleiner, defending himself. "We _need _help, Connor. Desperately."

"I can see that plain as day, m'lord," Connor said. "Which is funny, cause day and night are really the same thing now."

Kleiner frowned. "I am not amused."

"My apologies," Connor apologized, bowing his head. "Just a joke-"

"What's the status on our garrison? Did you compile a report?" Kleiner asked, moving on to other matters.

"Well, Sergeant Shen was supposed to provide that, actually-"

"And he's not here. So I'm asking you," Kleiner interrupted. "I'm sorry for being brusque, but I need this information."

"From what I know, we've got 1,500 good, shapely men in fine form, and our little team of lightmen. There's about four thousand people remaining other than that, almost all of them civilians and untrained in combat," Connor reported dutifully, racking off the numbers from memory.

"Only 1,500? That's hardly anything," Kleiner muttered, dismayed.

"Beggin' your pardon, m'lord, but what were you expecting?" Connor asked honestly.

Kleiner wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Optimistically, he had been hoping for a higher number, at least to bolster their already pitiful defenses. Fifteen hundred was pathetic in the face of their enemy, whose numbers remained unknown but certainly much higher.

"It's all we've got, m'lord, but they're good men, fine young fighters," Connor added, unusually optimistic.

"I do not doubt that. But even the finest fighter will fall eventually," Kleiner rebutted.

"I can't help that, m'lord. My job is to report to you and take your orders. I don't do the planning," Connor said.

That was a harsh reality. Kleiner was the only one doing any sort of planning or strategy, as he was the only one able to do so. Everyone else was just a sergeant, trained to receive and deliver orders and lead their men. Anything more was beyond their education and thus beyond their abilities.

"We need more men and supplies," Kleiner said.

"Well, ah, I suppose ol' Darius won't be helping us there-"

"I'm not planning on it. That's where I need you. I need you to gather one hundred good men for me, your pick," he ordered.

"And?"

"Scour the refugee camps outside the city. Look mainly for supplies, but if there's anyone sane, able-bodied, and willing to fight...bring them in. We need all the arms we can get," Kleiner detailed.

"That sounds unlikely-"

"But _if _you do, I want them," he said, stressing the unlikely possibility. "And supplies, too. You won't find much, likely, but it's worth an attempt."

"I will, ah, do what I can," Connor said.

"Kill anybody who tries to attack you. If anyone's still alive, they're bound to be trouble," Kleiner warned him.

"Then why look for new recruits?"

"Just...it's just worth it." He was dodging the question, really. The likelihood of finding new recruits in the wasteland outside was essentially nil; Connor would more likely come back with fewer soldiers, not more. But why not look? It was worth the chance, in Kleiner's mind. Desperation drove the decision.

"Is that all then, m'lord?"

"You're free to go, report to me after you have returned from the camps. Dismissed, sergeant."

Connor bowed out of respect and departed. He closed the door behind him out of regard for his lord's privacy, leaving Kleiner to stare at the mess of papers and sketches on his desk.

Such a mess, he thought, all of these scattered problems. He needed some sort of closure for this entire situation. Everything here at Milltown would end soon, he knew that, and he needed to put his thoughts down on paper. Apocalyptic and depressing as they were, they deserved a better space than the labyrinthine confines of his brain. He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, dipped his stylus in the inkwell, and poured his thoughts out.

_To whomever may find this,_

_This is the final testament of the defenders of Milltown. It was only a matter of time before the city fell, and oral tradition was bound to fail us. Whoever locates this must know that we fought valiantly to the end, that every man did his duty to the best of his extent, and those who did not are surely condemned to despair and shame. For my part, I have lead this city in its dying months to the best of my ability, and fought through its last gasps. Let the world know the struggle that came to a head here, and that every breathing man clashing with the undead fought for what they believed in. History cannot forget us. We must live on, lest our sacrifices for the living be in vain. This is the testament of Lord James Kleiner, once of House Kleiner of New Connaught. _

Kleiner put his official seal in ink at the bottom corner of the parchment and looked around his office for a suitable container. The empty wine bottle laying discarded in one of the dressers was a little large, but it would do. He stuffed the note inside hastily and tossed it back in, wondering if anyone would ever find it. Should the entire building collapse, his writing would be for naught; but should some explorer or soldier discover it one day, perhaps the world would finally know of the last days of the city of Milltown.

They ought to know. Kleiner knew his men were going to die, every last one of them - but they would not die in vain if he had anything to say about it.

VVVVV

Leon was almost ready to leave. His stomach had tied itself in knots and his heart was pumping as he watched the bags and crates being carried up out of the Ditch and taken on the ten mile journey to the Great River. It would take almost a full day for everything to be loaded, but once the supplies were prepared there was nothing else standing in the way of their departure. Even Hero, ever stoic, was excited to be off and experiencing a change of scenery.

But before he departed, he had to hand the keys to the kingdom off to Lord Tanser. The latter looked rather nervous, his face bathed in sweat and his eyes bloodshot, but he was ready to accept the challenge. Leon could read determination in his face and knew he had made the right choice when picking Erik. The young nobleman had risen from relative anonymity to becoming the leader of the vast, disparate forces of the fragile Alliance, and had assumed a difficult position. Leon did not envy him in the coming winter months, to be sure.

"I've marked out on the map plenty of stuff that you might find handy," Leon said, leading Tanser over to the map he had been marking up on the conference room's table. "For one, there's no real border for our turf. But I drew an approximation."  
Leon pointed out the lines running across the Green Rush. The border ran from The Ditch east to Crestan - even though Crestan was technically abandoned - south down to Killgally and Nimble Rest, and out west to Thomasville. From there it ran northwest through Oakhome, Stallhart and Napier Creek, and then back up to the Ditch. Most of the locations within that border were small mottes or farming villages; the only true castles were Killgally and Napier Creek, and the Ditch was the only veritable fortress they possessed. Crestan was worth next to nothing after it had been ravaged; there was no point in even including it.

"That's a large swath of land I've got there," Tanser observed, chuckling anxiously.

"Most of it's just flat grass. You'll find only about a half dozen places _really _worth defending. Tiny mottes like Thomasville and Stallhart are barely worth a passing glance," Leon established, making little X-marks with the stylus over their locations. "Not much to worry about."

"Understood...but what if they call for help? Come under siege, or the like?"

"Do what you can. Use your own judgment...I trust you," said Leon. He knew Erik would do his best to keep _everyone _safe, but in a situation like this that simply wasn't possible. If Reinhardt decided to roll over a few small towns or raze a local motte, so be it. In the grand scheme of things, a small loss like that didn't matter; survival was what mattered.

"How many troops?" Tanser inquired.

"Across this entire span...maybe ten thousand, plus another twenty thousand peasants you could likely call up. There's about as many people in this region as there are in Thellden alone. You will find yourself outnumbered with every adversary we have," Leon warned him.

Tanser ran his hand through his hair nervously and wiping sweat away. "You're doing a lot to comfort me here."

"I'm not going to lie to you, Erik," said Leon. "You're worth more than that."

"The honesty is...ah, appreciated, my lord," Tanser thanked, smiling awkwardly.

"Supplies are being stockpiled everywhere, on my orders," Leon disclosed. "You'll hopefully find starvation and shortages not a problem, except perhaps to the far east."

"What would you have me do if the enemy marches on us?" Tanser asked.

"Well, hopefully you can wrestle with them in dipl-"

"The other enemy."

Leon knew what he was referring to, then. That was a situation he had hoped to avoid. So far, they had been lucky...but for how long would their good luck last? Milltown was likely abandoned by now...the last bridge either destroyed, or taken by the enemy.

"Ah. That...would be a problem," Leon admitted, at a loss for an acceptable solution.

"You'd have me fight to the death?" asked Tanser grimly.

"What other option do you have?" Leon asked. A rhetorical question; there was no other option. He had to ensure that Tanser knew that, but he had to instill hope too. He clasped his shoulder and leaned over to whisper to him.

"This is why I'm leaving. We can do this, Erik. I will be an ocean apart from you, but I'll be with you in spirit. You have this."

He hoped the words were encouraging. Tanser relaxed a little as Leon retracted.

"You have to come back. I don't care when, but I'm not taking care of this place forever," Tanser swore.

"I'll be back," Leon promised, rolling the map up and handing it to him. "Definitely alive, I swear it."

"What about Cormac? What should I tell him?" Tanser asked.

"You can brief Sir Lyonel on every-"

Leon swiveled around as the door to the conference room burst open on him. Gate guardsmen were piling into the room, four of them, all armored and armed to the teeth. There was clearly some sort of emergency. Leon waited for one of them to speak as they all caught their breath.  
"Soldiers!?" he asked quickly when none of them spoke.  
"Reinhardt men, approaching. Large column. A few hundred at least, we cannot be sure. They are armed," one of the guards finally spoke, panting. Leon's heart plummeted. He had been so close, _so _close to being able to leave without trouble. This was his worst nightmare, besides the undead army standing before his gate. Reinhardt had arrived to take what they claimed to be rightfully theirs. Leon dismissed the guards and rushed back into the hallways of the quarters, making for the armory. He had to be quick.

"Find Sir Lyonel and bring him to the gate! All guardsmen on ready!" cried Leon to Tanser, who rushed off in a different direction to retrieve his right hand man. Leon dashed down to the armory and bellowed orders to the bemused and terrified apprentices, who rushed to grab a set of armor that was _not _packed away and a sword that was, unfortunately, not golden. Leon regretted sending his armor and weaponry ahead of him onto the ships, and hoped beyond hope that the Reinhardt soldiers had not pillaged his favorite blade.

It took the apprentices about three minutes to get Leon ready for battle, and he would've scolded them for their lack of haste if he had less restraint. But he thanked them nevertheless and, without further ado, rushed back up through the quarters, clanking all the way in the heavy, foreign-feeling steel plate. It was strong material, able to deflect a spear or dagger blow, but heavy and lacking in mobility. He could be a walking tank, but he would be a particularly slow one.

He dashed through the streets as people rushed out of their homes and businesses to see what the clamor was. Leon was alone in his run, and very aware of the strange looks he was getting as he ran in the streets alone and unescorted, but he ignored the growing crowd as he ascended the two levels up to the surface and dashed across the bridge, joining the battalions of armored guardsmen streaming to the gatehouse. Archers and spearmen ran side by side in their own rank and file, dispersing by squad into their combat positions. None of them paid heed to Leon, who looked rather awkward and out of place as the only one dressed in clanking, bulky steel plate.

"My lord, they're about a mile out," reported Tanser when Leon came up to him, sweating and gasping for breath.

"Man the-"

"There appears to be about two hundred of them, but no more. It looks more like an envoy, sir," Tanser reported.

"Who saw that?" Leon asked, beet-faced and exasperated.

"Men in the guardhouse. They're still ready for fight-"

"Grab mounts. If this is an envoy, we do not meet them with arrows. We will fight if it is necessary," Leon ordered. He needed control of the situation. He needed to _think_. He looked a little ridiculous, dressed in this bulky, ungainly armor and without a helmet. He was hoping that he would not have to use this if a fight broke out.

By the time a small greeting party was mounted and the gate was opened, the Reinhardt envoy was five hundred feet away from the gate. The archers above were holding their fire but they made their presence known by holding their weapons in view and making a show of force in the parapets. Leon's party marched out with a contingent of armored guardsmen clanking behind him, making an intimidating scene. With luck, the Reinhardt force would be dismayed if they were asking for surrender yet again.

The head of the Reinhardt column dismounted and, raising his visor, marched towards his greeting party. Leon did the same, and bid Tanser to dismount as well. The two of them, their escort force waiting anxiously behind them, made their way to a spot between the two groups, right in the middle of the cobblestone road that led up to the gatehouse.

"I have not come for blood," the Reinhardt commander called as he marched up to meet Leon. "Rather, I have come for words."

"Then speak."

"I am Commander Kellas of the armed forces of Reinhardt. I bring with me the blessings of my Lord Stanislaus Antar, as well as a token of peace. My Lord wishes for a ceasefire between our two nations, to allow us to nurse our wounds and perhaps re-initiate diplomatic relations at a later date," said the Reinhardt man. Several of his aides clanked up behind him, all of them decked out in full steel plate armor. For men who had apparently not come for blood, they were dressed for war.

"Is this a ceasefire, then?" asked Leon uncertainly.  
"My master believes that war between our two groups is pointless and would only end in waste. He does not wish to pursue violence any longer," Kellas expounded.

"I must consult with my team briefly on your offer. Do we have that luxury?"

"I give you five minutes. No more," Kellas said. He stood in place while Leon and Tanser stepped back a little, huddling into their own little circle.

"This is not the first time an envoy has come to us-"

"I'm aware. The question is, is this legitimate?" asked Leon, interrupting Tanser. He leaned in closely to whisper, keeping his voice down and preventing the Reinhardt envoy from catching on.

"I should think so. Why would they come up all the way from Dunnefold if they were trying to play us?" Tanser asked.

"What does Antar have to win by making peace with us? He could easily steamroll us," Leon pointed out.

"M'Lord, it's possible that Thellden is a thorn in their side," one of the sergeants interjected. "That might-"

"That could be it, potentially. What do you think?" asked Tanser.

"I didn't consider that," Leon admitted, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Well...I mean...is there an opportunity I might be missing out on here?"

"What are you meaning?" Tanser asked.

"Is there something I can gain from him? Any way I have the upper hand?" Leon asked.

"You want something out of this?"

"I'm trying to get more than just peace. I want to see what I bargain I can get. Think _strategically_, Lord Tanser," Leon urged him.

"I don't think there's much you can get," Tanser advised, whispering fiercely. "He has the upper hand here. A superior foe is offering you peace. I would neither squabble nor refuse."

"I don't want to miss a key advantage here. I don't want to miss out on anything," Leon added.

"You're going to have to say yes," Tanser said. He sounded very decisive on that.

"I know this-"

"I agree with you, m'lord, but I don't see any other option. We just accept it, even if it makes us seem meek. We have to accept their superiority, for the time being," Tanser advised. Commander Kellas looked like he was becoming angsty over on his side, and Leon did not want to waste the man's time. He had to accept the facts.

"You are correct," he acquiesced.

"It gives us time to recuperate our losses," added Tanser, looking for optimistic results.

"And we can keep them in check, too. Most of our southern border will be secure now. I will speak with him," Leon said, breaking from the circle and turning back to Kellas. Dressed in his armor, he knew he looked somewhat ridiculous, but he ignored the looks he was likely receiving. He just had to finish the deal.

"We accept," he said. Simple and easy. Kellas, who had looked tense previously, relaxed visibly.

"Your choice is wise, Lord Walker," he said, smiling. "I will return to Dunnefold and bring the news back. I swear, we will hold our peace and not trouble you."

"I will ensure that my people do the same," Leon swore.

"Then we are finished?"

"Concluded," Leon said, as his men began to mount their horses behind him. "I have your promise?"

"You have the royal promise. Peace be with you, Lord Walker," Commander Kellas said, clasping his fist to his cuirass. Leon did the same, creating a hollow crack when his fist hit the armor, and the two men departed honorably, mounting and leading their respectful columns away from the meeting place.

The city died down after that. Weapons were placed back on their shelves, armor was tossed aside, horses were tacked and stabled again, and the people went back to their homes. Leon, for his part, returned for one last survey of his quarters before he left. The caravans to the river had gone unmolested, he knew; all he had left to do was leave.

"Do you think he'll keep his peace?" Lord Tanser asked as Leon took one last look at his now barren room. His belongings and clothing were all packed away now, the only items left being the furniture. He was going to miss this place for however long he was gone; it truly had been home, for many decades.

"I do not know. I would trust him to, if only because he now has to face Thellden," Leon said. "Once Thellden is destroyed, we will be in trouble."

When he noticed the fear on Tanser's face, he decided not to pursue the subject. The young lord did not want to consider war with Reinhardt, not at all.

"I would not think about that now. You have other things to worry about, think about that later," Leon assuaged him.

"Aye," said Tanser. "I suppose I do."

"Are you nervous?" Leon asked, turning on the spot to face Erik directly.

"Of course I'm nervous. The hell do you think?" the latter brusquely retorted.

"Just a question, no reason to be defensive," Leon maintained. "I understand how you feel. I barely remember what I did when I first came here, but I remember how scared I was when I made a move for power. I had lived here for ten years under the reign of an aged, senile lord who couldn't tell you the time of day if he was looking right at a watch."

"Go on," Tanser urged, listening with interest.

"Well, I...I think it's a story for another time. I ought to be gone," Leon said, turning back to his room.

"What was the point of that, then?" Tanser asked. "I'm confused."

"You're not alone, Erik. Everyone's nervous, and some people are downright afraid. But what separates the weak from the strong is the ability to overcome that blooming seed of fear. Those who fail to do so will cower and writhe in the shadows...while those who succeed rise despite themselves, and stand to the challenge."

Leon had turned back to Tanser to deliver his brief diatribe. The latter did not appear moved, but Leon could see him visibly relax. He took one last long at his empty room, gazing longingly at the emptiness that had once been his home. He would have no home for the next year, constantly on the move, and feared he would grow to miss this place.

"I'll tell you the story another time," he promised, turning back and moving past Tanser to leave.

"Is that it, then? This is where you leave?"

"Are you gonna miss me?" Leon asked, already walking down the hall.

"I'm sure as hell gonna need you," Tanser called after him. No stopping him now, though. The Ditch was officially in his hands.

"You'll do alright. I'll be back within a year, I promise."

With that, Leon Walker departed. Within a few minutes, he would be out of the Main Hall and up to the gatehouse. By the end of the day, he would be on a ship sailing upriver into the territory of Redwoods.

As the sun set on the Ditch, Erik Tanser took his seat in the Main Hall, resting upon the chair where Leon Walker had sat for decades. He felt like an alien now, presiding over a foreign land. Leon would be back within a year, he had promised it...but could the Ditch survive for that long? He did not know.

VVVVV

"Then I expect you to _find _suitable laborers," snapped Shandra, grimacing. A public assembly would find her far more genial and composed than she was now, as being in front of the city's nobility would force her to assume a facade. Here, though, in one of the keep's conference rooms, she was able to let her anger steam without consequence. The inability of Keldon's new council to handle the simplest of tasks was positively astounding.

"Easier said than done, mother," Keldon retorted sharply. She wanted to argue his assertion badly, but now was not the time. She needed her advantage.

"_Not_," she hissed, turning her ire to the inept Chief of Staffing. "if you know where to look."

"Mr. Ward will be able to dredge up some willing laborers from the city markets, if he looks hard enough," the new vizier, Jonathan Sardisson, reassured her. Although she had only known him for a week, Shandra could already see Sardisson was a slippery eel of a man, a politician of dangerous nuance and sharp wit. He could be marked out as a foe if he continued like this.

"That's the spirit we must see," she said, nodding politely at him. It was best to conceal her true intent for now, and let them rest at ease. Especially Keldon.

"Thank you, my lady," said Sardisson. "And for the issue of security, Sir Stephan?"

The entire council was busy planning for Shandra's triumphal festival, a motion which everyone but Keldon had wholeheartedly approved of. Perhaps Keldon saw through Shandra's guise and knew she was planning something. But now, obligated to support the council that _he _had handpicked, he was forced to accept their motions and work with them as they gathered coin, labor and materials to prepare for the event.

Sir Stephan, rather well-armored for a simple council meeting, spoke up from his corner of the table. "The guard force remains unwilling to provide anything but basic law, so I will have to devote some of my knights to security."

"That will not be a problem, will it?" Shandra inquired.

"Of course not, my lady," Sir Stephan reassured her, before turning to Keldon as well. "And my High Lord. I would be glad to provide my men."

"I am certain there will be no issues with security, but it is better safe than sorry," said Sardisson.

"Agreed," Shandra said. "And I believe security of money may be an issue too. I have already taken some precautions towards that, of course."

"_Mother_, we already have taken care of that," whined Keldon, asserting his authority in the usual manner. "_I _have. My vizier-"

"-is quite preoccupied with magisterial duties. I believe some of that pressure must be relieved. I have my own man to nominate to the position," Shandra replied. Keldon did not appear pleased with this; his cheeks flushed heavily.

"My lady, you must have someone to second your motion, seeing as you are not High Lord," Sardisson gently reminded her, as Keldon was not apt to do.

"I will second," Sir Stephan said.

"There you have it," said Shandra smugly.

"And who would you _nominate_, then?" Keldon asked, finding himself overruled.

"I nominate the Officer of Riverine Affairs, Edgar Branch," "His experience with finances and materials makes him fit for the job."

All eyes turned to a small, weaselly-looking man sitting in the corner, until now forgotten by the larger members of the council. Edgar Branch shrank into the shadows when the spotlight was flipped upon him.

"That is a sensible appointment," said Sardisson, still wary of his High Lord's reaction.

"Doubtlessly, Mr. Branch will be able to control our finances and spend quite frugally. Do you agree with me, Mr. Branch?"

"I, ah, yes," Edgar spoke, his voice nasally and abnormally pitched. "I believe I can accept this position."

"And you, Mr. Sardisson? Do you allow this measure?"

Shandra knew it would anger Keldon if she turned to his vizier instead of him. The vizier, beleaguered, turned to his superior High Lord for his response. Surprisingly, Keldon gave him an affirmative, although it was given begrudgingly.

"The High Lord affirms your decision, as do I. We accept the installment of Edgar Branch and will promote him accordingly," Sardisson said, visibly relieved that Keldon approved of the motion.

"I will find a new Officer of Riverine Affairs," Keldon shot up, taking his own stand. "_I _can find someone worthy of the position."

Shandra was not willing to argue with him on such a pithy subject. Let him do it, what harm could he do? The office was relatively unimportant, and whoever held it would not be able to trouble Shandra. She smiled kindly at him and did not debate him any further, which only gave Keldon further grief. He didn't like it when his mother got her way.

"Then our financial situation should be in good hands. This council entrusts you, Mr. Branch, with Festivity Finances and Monetary Organization," Sardisson passed the motion. Nobody else moved to stop it, not even Keldon. Perhaps he hadn't caught wind of her plan, after all, and he had just made a significant blunder. Shandra, for her part, was brimming with joy but forced herself to remain reserved. She couldn't let him know that she was happy.

There was some more discussion about appointments and possible issues regarding the festival, but she simply listened to these with interest. Her own appointment had gone down well; not only was Edgar Branch on her payroll and solidly loyal to her, he was also unaware of his status as a pawn. He was not a bright man when it came to the game of politics, and that would serve her goals well.

"If there are no more issues, our meeting is adjourned. Minutes will be made public tomorrow, as usual," said Sardisson, as the rest of the council rose and departed. Shandra, for her own part, left with Sir Stephan, heading down to her room where she knew letters would be waiting for her.

"What do you plan to do with Branch?" Sir Stephan asked, struggling to catch up after stalling briefly back in the chamber.

"Use him until he's of no more use. What good is he?"

"What if Sardisson finds out? What if your _son _finds out?" asked the knight.

"Keldon...the High Lord, pardon me...will never find out. You know him just as well as I do, he is hard-headed and impetuous," Shandra explained. "His emotions cloud his perception. I am not worried."

"I suppose you are right."

"I want you to get those knights ready quickly, Sir Stephan. I want everyone to feel secure, even if the guard force refuses to return to us," she ordered. "You may go."

He hurried back out quickly, moving to prepare his men and gear them up for the week to come. Without the guard force in her hands, Shandra needed Sir Stephan, Sir Horace and their knight force. The guards would not make a move against her, that was certain, but they had not taken her side. Too powerful to be brought down by her loyal knights, but lacking the legitimacy for a popular uprising, they were content to stand by and do the minimal amount of work required to uphold law in the city, without aiding Shandra or the council in any way, shape or form.

She had given up on Simeon by now.

The whore, surprisingly loyal for her calling, was waiting at her door with two missives in hand. Keldon had already seen them, clearly, but she did not mind that. She would look at their contents anyway, and have them back before he even realized they were gone. So long as the ladies were on her payroll, she could safely continue to look through his mail and his foreign diplomacy.

"Wait here for five minutes. I will be brief," she told the whore, handing her several small silver coins out of her handbag. The lady waited patiently while Shandra entered her room, lit a few candles for light and warmth, and then sat at her work desk to take a look at the missives.

The first, quite reassuringly, was from Lord North. She didn't read the entire thing, given how long and detail-strewn it was, but the general gist of it was that his force had recently won a battle with a Reinhardt vanguard two days south of Dunnefold and was currently marching north towards the city, ready to besiege it. He sounded unnervingly overconfident in the letter, depicting a garish fantasy of victory and triumph, but she chalked it up to his age. He so wanted to win the upcoming battle for the glory of his city, and she didn't blame him. Smiling, she set the note down and reminded herself to write to him later, circumventing whatever Keldon's plans were.

The second letter was, surprisingly, far more interesting. The seal on it was the first thing to jump out at her. Such a primal, vicious symbol spoke of nothing but a legacy of war and blood.

_Ais Kleisardathos_.

And from the Xonos Mallistron, at that. She had heard all the stories of his rampage across the east, the horrifying tales of pillage and rape of thousands of refugees. What Keldon was doing conversing with him, she had to know. _Had _to.

She opened it and began reading:

_Dear High Lord Thell,_

_Kuos i'i taxri y-sulomon. Yassud-y, Xonos Mallistron._

_In regards to your previous letter, I wish to broker full diplomacy between the faction that I represent and your city. I have refused the offer given to me by the illegitimate Xonos that I mentioned to you earlier, and wish to stand by your side in this time of war and great distress. I ask for nothing yet but diplomatic channels to be opened, and I do not expect you to provide for my soldiers. I can do that well enough. I have marched down near Redtimber Watch and am decamped there in order to receive the envoy I wish for you to send. If you have a trusted soldier or diplomat that you can send, now would be the time. I will receive them and return them within a week, hopefully. I wish to procure some sort of deal out of this but I promise that I will be fair and just in our dealings. Please respond promptly._

_Sovos y-ariat,_

_Xonos M._

This was interesting. This was _fresh_...and dangerous. A man like the Xonos Mallistron had a legacy of violence, a history of war. He was a vicious man who was strategically brilliant and quite merciless in his affairs. Shandra felt her blood run cold as she read the Old Kleisardathan script at the bottom, paired with his sign-off. This was dangerous, and she felt afraid for the first time in months because she could feel some kind of strange malice drip from his words. This was not a letter from a man, this was a letter from a _killer_.

She had to take care of this.

She needed someone...not a fighter, not a diplomat. She had to pair a killer with a killer.

She had to send for Sir Stephan. She handed the letters back to the whore, paid her a bit more to tell her if Keldon had answered him, and then sent her off. She returned to her desk lightning-fast, knowing she had to act to preempt Keldon.

She wrote the first letter to the Xonos, promising to send an envoy to negotiate with him and perhaps broker a deal. She, of course, tried to mimic Keldon's handwriting, and hoped it would work. She was close, but uncertain if it was close enough. It _had _to be, had to be.

The second letter she wrote was to Sir Stephan. It was short, sweet, and simple, and could not be misunderstood by even the dullest of fools.

_R. S._

_I need Ablyn Cullen. Go find him. Sir Horace should be able to get him geared up. I'm going to take out the Xonos Mallistron. I need a trained killer for this._

_Get me Ablyn Cullen. And quick. You have a day._

_S. Thell_


	9. As If the World Ceased to Breathe

**Good morning friends! I've finally managed to push this out, just shy of twenty days after the last chapter. Thank you for your patience. These next few chapters might tend to be a bit long, so just a heads-up!**

**VVVVV**

"Matt, we talked about this!"

Sora tried to tug the bottle out of his hands, and he resisted initially. Once she grew angry, however, he gave up, letting her take it and set it aside.

"Why are you drinking again?"

"I'm just trying to relax, damn," Matt defended himself, laying back down on the bed.

"You remember what happened the last time you drank light this, right?"

"Not...as well as I should," Matt attempted to joke. It went over poorly, judging by her frown.

"That's not funny," she said.

"I'm _sorry_," Matt apologized, now thoroughly grumpy. "I just needed a little to help me sleep, that's all."

"There are better ways to relax, Matt," sighed Sora, sitting up on the bed with him. "You don't need this..._poison_."

"Well, it certainly helps. Takes some of the burden off, y'know?" Matt tried to explain, glancing longingly over at the bottle of cheap, sour wine he had been drinking from.

"What's troubling you, Matt?" Sora asked, climbing up close to him.

"This whole thing...the whole nobility thing-"

"Can you, uh...tell me more?" she asked.

"I don't know," said Matt with a shake of his head. "It's difficult to explain. It's like, I feel as if everyone has certain expectations of me, but I can't meet all of them, and someone is _inevitably _going to be unhappy…"

"Are you referring to Avery?"

"I...yeah," Matt said. "How'd you know?"

"I had a gut feeling."

"No, seriously, how'd you know?"

"He seemed like the most likely person based on that little bit you told me," Sora explained, as if it were no big deal. "Don't let him get to you, Matt. He's young and hotheaded, and he hates that you're in charge when he thinks he should be."

"Stellmeier, too...expects so much out of me because I'm the lord. I'm no lord, I'm no baron, no king," Matt continued, feeling exasperated now. "What am I?"

"You're my boyfriend, for one thing," she said, stroking the back of his neck and his short, bristly hair.

"That really doesn't help me right now," he said.

"You just need to take things a day at a time, and chill out when you can," Sora advised, placing her head on his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her skin despite the thick leather jerkin. "Just because you're lord doesn't mean you can't be a teenager, too. You can be both."

"I'm almost an adult, though," he said.

"Growing up isn't the end of fun, silly," she argued, chuckling at him. He didn't like that chuckle, but let her continue.

"Not if you ask me, anyway," she added.

"What do you think?"

"You can still be goofy and relax and party from time to time even with your responsibilities. You just need to know when it's appropriate, that's all."

"Easier said than done," Matt retorted.

"Awww, sweetie. I'll help you," she promised, snuggling close to him as a comfort. He liked her touch and the beating of her heart, but he felt like he hadn't earned this intimacy tonight. He had broken her trust by drinking, and now he was just sort of spilling his problems to her. He felt guilty.

"It's not really that, that's not the problem," he stammered. "I just…"

"Just?"

"Don't know if I'm ready for this authority," he admitted. He could never say that to Stellmeier or Avery, lest his entire groundswell of support collapse.

"You've dealt with it well enough so far!"

"Have I?" he asked. Rhetorical question, really, and it put Sora in a bind. She looked like she was unable to answer straight, at least not without insulting Matt. He didn't care what she said, really; if she spoke the truth, so be it. It would be true, after all.

"Well, I...I think so," she said, after a few seconds. She had stopped stroking his neck, a sign of distress. She was trying to keep him calm and realized she was failing to do what she needed to.

"Sora, of course you'll think so. You're always my moral support, even when you're angry."

"Because I have faith in you. Even if you fuck up, I have faith that you can make the right decision. You'll always be the person I love most and trust the most," Sora told him. He was taken aback by the honesty of that statement.

"I appreciate that," he said, feeling rather warm all of a sudden.

"You just need to get used to this. It's very different, for me as well. I'm not having an easy time getting used to all of it," Sora admitted herself.

"I need more friends, and fewer enemies. That would be a step."

"You don't have enemies, Matt," she said, looking amused by the possibility of such. "That's silly."

"Avery Steadwin-"

"Is just a prickly little bitch who whines when he doesn't get his way," she said. "Eventually he'll accept you. Just give him time."

"What about Stellmeier?"

"You've just got to get used to this, Matt. Fill in your role, adapt to it, and prove to him that you can do it, and I know he'll stand by your side. He's that kind of guy."

He didn't respond to that. He was deep in thought, trying to process what was right and what was wrong about the things she had said. Was she right in all of that? Had he been approaching the problem all wrong, or perhaps even overreacting to it? Sora, a more level head than he nowadays, may very well have given him the solutions to his problems. He wanted to kiss her, but he was still mulling things over in his head.

"Are you dealing with things alright?" he asked, changing the subject as he thought.

"Oh, I'll be fine, don't worry about me."

Something about her tone was off. He knew that wasn't quite true, given the way she had replied to him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'm good. I've got my household under control. We've got some minor issues here and there with inventory, but that will all be settled," she expounded, looking like she was covering something up. Matt wasn't going to push her buttons further, though. He could deal with that later.

"Well, I'm glad-"

She kissed him on the lips unexpectedly and pushed him down onto the bed. She began undressing, but only into her nightclothes; this was not what Matt had thought it was. For a moment, he had become excited, but the situation quickly returned to normal and the brief flash of sexual intensity vanished.

"I think we both need good sleep, that will help," she said, slipping into bed with him. Matt undid his jerkin and tossed it aside into the clothes pile, leaving it for Yu Jin to pick up in the morning.

"Sure. See you in the morning, then," he said, extinguishing the little candle sitting on the night table and pulling the covers up.

"Love you. Goodnight!" she replied heartily, and they both fell silent.

It was about half an hour before he was thrown into horror. He lay awake in bed, restless and anxious, unable to close his eyes and force his body to shut down. Just as he was about to fall into the early stage of slumber, his vision becoming blurry and his body relaxing, his vision collapsed into darkness and his conscience flew out of his body.

He was terrified and alone in the void, but only for a millisecond. His vision returned and a lurid, ghastly scene exploded before him. He stood above three coffins located in a dim underground chamber. Each of them bore a deceased resident, and he watched as a cloaked figure, flesh black as pitch darkness and eyes purple and malicious, stepped over them and bent low while whispering raspy words. The skeletal figures writhed and squirmed, erupting into life and screaming a soundless cry, their jaws open but voices silent. They rose, almost unwillingly, as the puppetmaster stepped back and laughed with delight at his work.

"_See!? See what I can do!? They rise to me!"_

He cackled as the skeletons stood, knees wobbly, and looked to him almost reverently. Matt could feel a sharp pain in his chest and retreated from the grotesque scene, returning to blackness again before returning to his bed, covered in sweat and gasping for breath. The fresh, clean air of Stallhart returned to his lungs, bringing him back from the grave.

"Matt!? What the hell!?" Sora shouted, shaking him vigorously.

"It's just, j-just…"

"What happened?" she asked, pulling him back to the bed. He found that his own hands were shaking, and he was having trouble keeping still.

"Just a bad dream," he stammered, recovering. "I'm, I'm okay."

"You're covered in sweat...did you hear yourself!?" she asked.

"Hear what?" he asked, confused. Had he been talking to her while out of body?

"You kept saying things...kept saying _no_, over and over again!" she recalled. "Hell of a dream?"

"Yeah, it was bad," said Matt, brushing the problem off. "Let's just...get back to sleep."

He didn't want to be questioned about it. The images he had seen haunted him as he tried to get back to sleep. Sora seemed worried, but she sighed to herself and rolled back over to sleep, figuring he did not want to be bothered. He was glad for that, and glad that when he finally started falling asleep, that's exactly what he did.

He was finally able to rest in peace, until the sun came back up.

VVVVV

Edgar Branch had been doing some investigating. Shandra had been relaxing quite happily in her quarters until his stenographer had rapped at her door and bid her to come. She was unhappy at being interrupted, but had smiled gaily at him and acted enthused as the stenographer led her into the keep and down into the treasury, where Branch had set up a cramped, dimly-lit office for his financial affairs.

The weaselly little man bore a pair of glasses as he scoured papers and looked over records books, grumbling to himself. He bid the stenographer leave as soon as Shandra had arrived, and pulled up a rickety-looking chair for her. His office was smoky and dim and smelled of body odor, burnt tallow and mold. Shandra felt rather uncomfortable in the messy station and wished to leave as quickly as possible, and thus let Branch talk relatively uninterrupted as he began.

"We're shorter on funds than I expected. Clearly the councilman appointed to this has not been doing his job," grumbled Branch, pulling out a massive, dusty ledger.

"That is why the High Lord replaced him," Shandra said astutely. Not quite true; he had been her man, and Keldon disliked that. He chose his own to replace hers, and replace the old financial advisor with someone loyal to _him_.

"Well, now that I'm here, I can see that the new financial advisor has not been up to task either," "I see a lot of money missing and a lot of transactions gone unnoted. Either there has been some serious incompetency down here, or _someone _has been filching funds."

"Impossible. I would have been told," Shandra protested.

"Not if your appointed financial advisor didn't know," he retorted. "Whoever did it was crafty and clever. I barely noticed it at first."

"Who, though?"

"I would not know, m'lady. I am simply informing you of our problem," Branch said, wiping his glasses clear of dust. He was a wiry little creature, already balding despite his young age, and reminded Shandra of some small rodent, or more fittingly a weasel.

"Well, it must be looked into," Shandra claimed.

"How can I do that?"

"You can figure it out. You're the financial advisor, after all," she pointed out. "Both the High Lord and I approved you for this."

"I will do what I can. If I can get a solid handle on a name, alive or dead, I will inform you,"

"Duly noted." Shandra was concerned, but not _too _concerned. They still had plenty of money, she knew; there was just less than expected. She was not terribly worried about the city entering bankruptcy or defaulting on its loans. Hell, every loan to New Connaught had been erased when Kastner, the paragon of the province, was slain in combat and the city was bathed in magma. Thellden was in a good financial position, anyone with eyes could read that.

"I don't expect much to come out of the investigation, I will warn you," Branch said as she got up to leave.

"I expect you to find _something_. Anything," Shandra said.

"I will do my best. It's just...there's not much paper trail here, m'lady. I know it's missing, but I can't figure out who or where."

"You have plenty of time. My main concern is whether or not we have enough for the festival," she told him.

"That, I'm sure of. I haven't gone through all of our records but, given this year's tax revenue, we should be in good standing," Branch reported, looking at some of the notations he had made on scratch paper. In the failing candlelight, she was surprised he could see anything, even with the spectacles.

"Ah, yes...I did the math, all here," he said, handing some of the scraggly sheafs to Shandra. She took the most disinterested look at them before nodding her head pleasantly.

"Looks good to me," she lied, handing it back after the briefest of inspections.

"I am impressed at the handiwork I have done. Much reading and much accounting I have done over the past two days," he said, sounding thrilled with himself. "But it looks like we are in good shape!"

"That is what I needed to hear," Shandra mused pleasantly, making to leave. Branch was clearly not finished, still scrambling through papers.

"My lady-"

"Oh, one last thing, Mr. Branch?" Shandra called to him. He didn't even bother to look up, now filing through a few folders that had been splayed out on the floor.

"Of course, my lady, but we need to go over a few more numbers here-"

"You may report it to me later. I must request something of you," Shandra urged him.

"Feel free, my lady, but I must show you some ledgers I have over-"

"Speak nothing of our meetings to the High Lord," she requested. Branch stopped what he was doing and cast his glance upward.

"Er...may I ask why?" the wiry man inquired, adjusting his spectacles casually.

"I pay you. You report to me. We will keep it that way," she said, leaving the details out. He didn't need to know, it was hardly important to him. He just needed to slave away in his musty, smelly little office and dredge up as much coin as possible.

"I can do that, my lady," he replied, without argument.  
"Thank you. That is all I require today, Mr. Branch. Thank you for your time and reports."

"Of course, my lady," Branch said meekly, and returned to his work. Shandra took a deep breath of the air outside of his office as she left, no matter how damp it was, and felt glad to be taking her leave of the place. She reminded herself to send Sir Stephan down next time Edgar Branch needed something. The little man needed to get out of his office and bathe more.

VVVVV

The forests of Redtimber Watch, quite ironically, did not contain red timbers. They did, however, contain a mighty watchtower standing three hundred feet tall. Despite being miles from shore, the tower gave a man unparalleled access to the land around him and even to the sea to the south, where he could see sails if they were close enough to the beach. Up here, in the abandoned watchtower, three Mallistron scouts watched as a squad of perhaps fifty mounted men, moving in single file, came down the western trail heading towards the rendezvous point.

No sign of the Kleisardathan representatives yet. Maybe they got spooked? Maybe they sensed a trap, or were being overly cautious. The Thellden forces were coming, but no sign of the "Xonos" or his men, who were supposed to meet Mallistron on the other side of the Watch.

One of them was dispatched to send word to Mallistron. He clambered down the rickety ladder, speedily descending the three-hundred feet to the surface below. The other two stayed and watched, hawk-like, as the wary mounted convoy crept closer to the rendezvous point.

Down on the path below, Ablyn Cullen led his forty-nine assigned followers steadily closer towards the assigned point. Cullen remembered the words of Sir Horace, who had handed him a fat purse full of gold coins when he had come to deliver Shandra's orders:

"Act like a diplomat. Make like a killer."

He had even been dressed up in regal attire, complete with broaches and ornaments, to disguise his true intentions. Ablyn had always been a nasty piece of work, others told him; coming from such a rough home life, he had little choice in terms of career due to his lack of education. What he lacked in literacy and teaching, however, he made up for with skill and a crafty disposition. He could be a thief, pickpocket, liar, swindler, or whatever else was required - but he was best as a killer. By knife, sword, or even crossbow he could be a deadly force, and Lady Shandra Thell knew that. It was why he was now traversing down this muddy road, to kill the Xonos Mallistron. The "Xonos". Everyone questioned his legitimacy now.

Cullen marched on, unaware of the men in the tower watching his caravan stride past them. For all he knew, the old watchtower was abandoned and in disuse, inaccessible due to structural issues. He had no idea that it was, in fact, accessible and incredibly useful. Very few people thought to use Redtimber Watch anymore.

The Xonos Mallistron, waiting a mile away, received the scout long before he received Ablyn Cullen. The youth was hardly phased by his dash through the woods, and delivered his report clearly and succinctly. Mallistron dispatched him back to his post and dismounted, waiting patiently for the column to arrive. He watched the gap in the trees, waiting for a glimpse of armor or the sounds of horses.

It was another fifteen minutes before the men sitting up in Redtimber Watch could see the column arrive at its designated point. Their comrade, still rushing through the underbrush, had not yet returned to his post, but they watched with interest as the diplomats arrived and dismounted.

"The Xonos Mallistron?" Ablyn Cullen spoke. The scouts up in the tower could not hear him, but they could see his men dismounting as the Xonos' party arrived. They pulled up beside a rushing stream parallel to the road, meeting at a fork in the road.

"That is me," said Mallistron, dismounting from his horse and dressed in full ceremonial armor. "Come forward, if you will."

Ablyn Cullen did as he was bid and drew closer to Mallistron, followed by a few of his allies. They were poorly armored, dressed only in riding clothing and boiled leather, but they were heavily armed and bore warhammers amongst them, a potent weapon against the plate armor and mail of the Kleisardathan troops. Mallistron quietly took note of this as he kept his position.

"You come from High Lord Thell?"

"Sent directly by him," Ablyn lied. "He wishes to conduct diplomacy, but, ah…"

"I understand," the Xonos said. "Secrecy is a necessity. What does he say?"

Ablyn forked over the missive, written by Keldon himself. The water's flow was the only sound as the two were silent for a moment. The letter was, of course, part of the ploy; his allegiance was to Shandra, and he was just waiting for his moment to strike. It would come very soon, he knew. His hand balled into a fist as he nervously watched the Xonos open the letter and study its contents. The Xonos, for his part, was playing it cool; relaxed, unassuming, quiet. If he moved too quickly, the Thell men would catch wind of his plan.

"He is interested, yes?"

"Thellden requires strong allies. An alliance between our people would be beneficial for both of us," Ablyn lied. Keldon probably thought that, but he was not the master here. Shandra had the upper hand.

"As I have agreed. His grace and I have been in contact previously," the Xonos reminded him. He folded up the letter and returned it, stepping even closer to Ablyn. That made his job so much easier...why the hell would he do that? A man such as the Xonos Mallistron would be no stranger to security and assassination attempts. What game was he playing here? Ablyn was unsettled but retained his amiable mask.

The Xonos knew what he needed to do. The Thellden men were likely suspicious of him, making his job possibly more difficult. To throw a factor of randomness into the encounter, he moved closer to Ablyn, retaining a passive body posture but confusing him. He could see a slight sense of unease in those cold eyes, and knew his gambit had worked. The Thell messenger was confused but remained alert, dangerously so.

"Of course, of course," Ablyn said. "He will require a response, however."

"Oh, I've prepared one. I am not a man to deliberate endlessly," the Xonos claimed. He moved his head to the right, the signal. Ten seconds.

"What will your answer be, then?"

Ablyn felt nervous, and instinctively reached back for his warhammer. Attached to his back, it would only require a swift pull from its harness to come into use. His instincts were, as it turned out, solid.

The Xonos drew his blade in a flash and made to stick his opponent, but Ablyn just barely deflected the attack. He sent the knife skittering onto the dirt and sent the Xonos reeling, collapsing into the dirt from the shock of the impact. Ablyn would have gladly smashed his skull in, and likely saved the lives of thousands more people, but the first crossbow bolt took him in the shoulder and he buckled, falling and rolling to the side to avoid the hail of bolts now streaming towards his men.

The Kleisardathans didn't escape entirely unharmed. Ablyn saw one of his men draw a bow and skillfully plink one of the Kleisardathan crossbowmen in the head, but he too went down after , struck by another archer's projectile. Lying in the dust, Ablyn could see more enemy men in the woods, and realized his party had been flanked without knowing it. It had been a trap the entire time, and they had strolled right into it. If he didn't get up, he would die. But if he did get up, he would die too.

His men were being cut down, despite putting up a stand with dead horses as a makeshift fortification. A few of them were fleeing, and a few of those would escape if they ran fast enough, but many were already down, cut down in the initial volley of bolts. An arrow came from the group and hit one of the advancing hoplites in the shoulder, but it was just a wound. Already the Xonos Mallistron was up, ordering his personal guard forward. Ablyn had to think fast, lest one of the bloodthirsty hoplites find him and finish him off.

In the heat of the moment, he rolled off into the rollicking waters of the creek and let them carry him away. Cold water splashed over his cheeks as the flow took him downstream, away from the chaos and the screams of the wounded. Lightly armored as he was, there was no fear of drowning as long as he kept himself surfaced. Once the sounds faded, he was able to grab a hanging log and pull himself up onshore, soaking wet but alive.

He was gone by the time the Xonos searched for his body. Thirty of the forty-something Thell men had been slain, and even though the rest had gotten away they would not make it far if the Xonos had his word. Already the companion cavalry were on their way, astride the speediest destriers available to him. The survivors would not be surviving for long.

He had already forgotten about Ablyn Cullen. Missing and presumed dead.

VVVVV

The mountain still smoked and rumbled, but it had ceased to erupt. The vigorous war it had waged earlier had come to a close, and its rebellious attitude had been silenced as its energy had been all but exhausted. The great cloud of ash and debris loomed high in the air, rendering the ruins of New Connaught lightless.

Sergeant Shen and his small party of riders had been forced to light torches about three days away from the city, unable to clearly see otherwise. A mile out of the city's ruins, they had come upon something solid underfoot, and it had taken Shen a minute to realize they were riding over hardened lava, covered by close to two feet of ash. Wind had leveled the amount of ash out but massive dunes of up to six feet tall rose here and there, and had to be avoided.

The city was mostly buried, with the cooled lava forming an incline the closer it was to the mountain. Shen and his men were forced to dismount once they reached the walls, and struggled through the ash as they walked up the smooth incline, heading closer and closer to the volcano. Small buildings, such as common houses, were entirely inaccessible, their doorways barred by the solid lava and thick ash and their structures compromised by the destruction wrought upon them. The larger buildings were also filled with ash, although their superstructures had survived the onslaught of the pyroclastic flow and the lava, and were just barely approachable.

Look for survivors, look for supplies. That was the job. Get in, and get out. It was far more difficult now that they no longer had streets to guide them. The cobblestones had been buried beneath the lava, and street signs had ceased to exist. They were wandering through a directionless wasteland.

"It looks as if the world just ceased to breathe," Shen muttered to himself as he looked over the ruined cityscape, dominated by the chapel tower still standing in the city center. The Catholic church had serviced the city's Catholic residents for two centuries, erected back before the Temperance Agreement and the rise of powerful feudal lords. He was surprised to see that its bell tower had resisted the volcano's power, although it had visible damage and wear on it.

"Sergeant, we can't get into most of these houses-"

"Leave them. We'll search the big buildings. City center only," said Shen, pulling his horse on through the ash. It was up to his thighs here, making movement difficult and fast travel impossible. His men were struggling through the thick dust in a single-file line, moving past shells of destroyed homes as they worked their way towards the center of the ruins.

The larger buildings built around the central square were still standing and quite visible above the ash, but it was clear they had sustained damage. As the group entered what should be the square, they broke into groups and headed for different buildings, looking in each of the major landmarks for whatever they could find. Shen, for his part, led a group of four into the Crosshatch Trading Company headquarters, a grand stone building now ruined and damaged by the disaster. The white cross within its circle remained on the building's facade, the paint worn but still visible.

"Fan out, search everywhere you can. If a path is blocked by rubble, it's a no-go," Shen ordered as they passed the broken doors and entered the remains.

"What do you want us to retrieve?" asked one of the party members.

"Food, survivors, weapons if you can. Nothing more," Shen said. That was all Lord Kleiner had told him to get, and anything else was miscellania not worth the time or effort of retrieval.

The anteroom of the trading company's headquarters, probably seventy feet long, thirty feet wide and with a ceiling twenty feet above them, was filled with ash and completely abandoned. Parts of the ceiling had caved in, exposing the lifeless sky above, and the furniture was worn and chipped. The great brass chandelier had collapsed and laid in a pathetic heap on the tiled floor, which had now been scoured of color and detail. Some stones in the wall had come loose and the eastern wall looked as if it were beginning to buckle, lending some urgency to their search.

Shen's men made for the side rooms, the ones lining the anteroom, but Shen himself made for the back hallway, which would lead to the storage rooms, the treasury, the vault and the conference rooms. Any of those were certain to have some objects of value; the vault, especially, would contain at least a few treasures or notable items. Even if Crosshatch had managed to remove much of its store from the building, it wouldn't have been able to secure _everything_. That was nigh on impossible, unless they had moved to secure their assets weeks before the eruption.

The only problem with his forward progress was the fact that the back hallway was blocked. Its ceiling had completely caved in, and the large keystones that had made up its arched structure were, along with wooden beams and roof tiles, blocking his way. The debris made a ten-foot tall heap that made it impossible to move forward, and it was impossible to climb over. He couldn't reach that high.

Shen, despite the weight of the stones, tried to push them away, struggling against them. They were unable to continue deeper into the building unless this was cleared, and it would take black powder explosives or an engineering team to remove _this_. Nevertheless, he would try to continue, desperate to find _something_. He was making no progress, however, and he spent a good five minutes trying to shift something in that mass of rubble.

"Sergeant? I've got living over here," someone called after him, after some time. He paused, taking a deep breath as he gave up on his task.

"Survivors?" repeated Shen, exasperated after battling all the rubble. He struggled over to where he had been called, where a soldier stood overlooking a stairwell. Peering down into the darkness below, Shen could make out dirty faces, five of them, huddling in a group and blinking against the harsh torchlight.

"We're friendly!" he called down to them, almost overjoyed to see living faces in the ruins. "Don't be afraid! We are getting you out!"

There was no response, and two of Shen's men carefully descended the stairwell, treading lightly in case it had suffered damage and might collapse. The survivors were silent as they were led back up, removed from their reeking hideout. It smelled of feces and awful death, and Shen didn't want to know how many bodies had been concealed down there in the darkness, not to mention how many might have been partially eaten. Cannibalism, in this situation, was very likely.

"We need to leave," Shen said after the survivors were pulled from their den. "There's nothing else here."

"What about the vault?" someone inquired.

"There's no way to get to it. Building's fucked," Shen said, feeling a surge of guilt that he hadn't tried harder to get back there. To be fair, there was no telling what he'd find, or if he'd even be able to return if he had managed to surmount the debris. They had found survivors, that was good enough; they had to get out of the city before nightfall. Nothing more could be gained from staying in the hellhole.

They led the survivors, who remained sullen and silent, out into the square, where two of the other three groups were gathering. They met in the center by the great obelisk, which had been scoured by the pyroclastic flow, and compiled their findings. The men who had hit the town hall had found some weapons, but nobody else had found anything. Their travail had been for naught.

The group coming out of the Catholic church did, surprisingly, find more survivors. Two of them, two small children covered in ash and soot, were carried out by two of the four spearmen.

_More survivors. How, though?_

Shen didn't want to think of how they survived. He wanted to get back to Milltown, no matter how shitty the situation there might be. New Connaught was too haunting, too _dead_; even Milltown had life left in it, because Lord Kleiner's banner still flew over the council chambers. No banner ruled here, for nature had reclaimed the city, and not even the dead reigned in the ruins.

"They were all we found, sir," one of the spearmen reported. "The rest were…"

He did not need to finish the sentence. Shen understood. He barked orders to mount up again and end the operation there. He wanted to be out of the city by nightfall, again...he just didn't want to stay. He felt a cold chill shoot up his spine as he thought about the possibility of them staying. He couldn't bear it, and he could tell the men were uneasy too.

The men mounted, helping the survivors onto horses with them, and moved single file back out of the city, the horses struggling through the ash. Thankfully, they were beyond the walls when night finally began to rise. Shen looked anxiously back at the southern gate as he led his party out onto the plains, wondering if anyone was following them. He had the gut feeling that _something _was watching them as they left, but he saw nobody. Not even a shadow.

He wanted to believe that the howling he heard as they left was the sound of the wind whistling through the desolate, ruined buildings of the dead city. He wasn't so sure of that, though.

VVVVV

Simeon Thell was a celebrity for a very different sort of reason. Erik Tanser had heard the rumors floating around his name, and did his best to dispel any predispositions he may have had in relation to it. _Thell _as a name now simply dripped with poison, and even a rather tame, honest man like Simeon could spell trouble. He remembered Leon's words, and how he extolled Simeon's virtues, and did his best to remain neutral as he entered the conference room, followed closely by Sir Lyonel Cormac.

"I am innocent of any crimes that may be put against me," proclaimed Simeon, his voice flat.

"Lord Walker saw to it that you are not to be tried for anything," Tanser said. After a pause, he added, "He trusts you, and therefore I do."

"I appreciate the sentiment," said Simeon.

The gentlemen paused while Tanser rifled through the guard force's registration file on Simeon Thell. They had processed him as a "prisoner of war", meaning his paperwork was scant and all the available information on him was only what he had given them by word of mouth.

"We must-"

"I remember meeting you before. Have we not done so?" Sir Lyonel interjected, interrupting Tanser. The latter allowed his subordinate to continue.

"I...believe I saw you in Thellden. We met, briefly, while I was with Lord Walker," Sir Lyonel said.

"I do remember," Simeon said after a moment's pause. "You seemed like a decent man. A bit hotheaded, perhaps, but loyal and...you had the look about you of a nobleman. In the best way possible."

"I remember you as an honest man," Sir Lyonel recalled. "So I hope you live up to my first impression."

"We need you to tell us anything you can. Anything pertinent, sensitive, classified, whatever dirt we can get on Thellden's nobility. Any chinks in their defenses are necessary, too," Tanser demanded, cutting to the chase. Simeon was technically the enemy, and he had to be treated like one. As the temporary liege of the Ditch, and leader of the entire Alliance, Tanser had to ensure his duty was done properly.

"I have a lot to say," said Simeon, pondering. "All I ask is protection."

"You will have that. We will shelter you here," Tanser promised, eager to hear him out. If that was all he demanded, then this would be easy; they would be giving him a tiny privilege in exchange for a massive amount of information.

"Then I will speak," Simeon said. And thus he began.

Tanser and Sir Lyonel sat, enraptured but silent, as Simeon began disposing of what seemed to be all the information he could muster. He spoke of Shandra's conflict with her son, and the young High Lord's arrogance and pride, and he described at length the dichotomy existing between the city's standing army and his own guard force. He revealed Lord North's secret operation against Reinhardt, and the army that was marching against Dunnefold as they spoke. He detailed which council members were on Shandra's payroll and which noble lords swore fealty to her instead of their High Lord, and he talked about the city's finances and the treasury's inner works in great detail. It was the last part that piqued Tanser's interest the most at that moment.

"You stole money?" he asked. It sounded as though he had stolen tens of thousands of coins, if not hundreds of thousands.

"I cooked books here and there, diverted some funds to myself," explained Simeon. "Some may call me corrupt...I like to believe I was saving lives. All that money I stole meant there were assassins that Shandra couldn't hire."

"Could you access it, though?" Tanser asked.

"Unlikely," Simeon said, shrugging.

"What do you _mean_, unlikely?" Tanser prodded, irritated at the prospect. He was in reach of a whole horde's worth of gold, and he was not about to be stopped by some financial minutia.

"It's spread around," said Simeon. "I brought a little with me, but most of it I left behind in my personal quarters or in the guard treasury. A fair amount of it was deposited in banks in Seven Atolls, and some went to B'aileth. I could not retrieve that. I apologize."

"Damn it all," Tanser swore. "Well, at least it's there."

"And it will stay there until I retrieve it, or until the High Lord orders it dissolved...that is presuming that he knows what I've been doing."

"You think he'll catch on?"

"I did my best to cover my tracks," Simeon promised. "It's unlikely."

"What about this...you mentioned the guardsmen?" asked Sir Lyonel, bringing up a previous topic.

Simeon seemed happy to explain further. "The problem is that I have been commander of the guard for more than ten years, ever since the commander my father hired died. He was a lousy leader and I whipped the guard into a true force to be reckoned with, not just glorified police. They owe me unswerving loyalty, and they will not take orders from anyone but me."

"So...neither Thell has any control over them?" asked Tanser.

"Nobody but me," Simeon affirmed. "And I am proud of that. They are my men."

"Is there any way for you to control them from here?" Sir Lyonel inquired. Tanser knew they both had the same objective; he waited for Simeon to reply. The latter looked suspicious, his eyes darting from one man to the other. Sitting across from them at the opposite end of the table, watched carefully by two guards, he had no means of escape from duress. He had to answer the question.

"...Why do you ask?"

"They could become an asset. We plan to besiege the city at some point, perhaps even before the year is out. We need advantages in our hands," Tanser expounded.

"That would be difficult." Simeon shook his head. "It would take three weeks, likely, for the message to get down there. There's no telling if it will even make it to someone I trust."

"I think it's a necessity," Tanser said.

"And I believe it's impossible," Simeon insisted.

"This is becoming a deadlock. You have money in that bank. Why can't you retrieve it?"

"Very difficult, and potentially dangerous. If my mother knows, she'll move on it quickly. It could go wrong," Simeon explained.

"But is it worth a shot?" Sir Lyonel asked.

Again, a pause. Tanser wanted to repeat the question, but he gave the him a chance to think.

"...No."

The answer was unsatisfactory. Tanser was growing more irritated; Simeon seemed like an honest man, indeed, but he felt as though the Thell was hiding something from him.

"That money can be put to great use." Tanser pressed Simeon. "We're short on funds and we have no bank supporting us. The Crosshatch bank was wiped out." The latter was clearly feeling the pressure, and even Sir Lyonel was visibly growing tired of the lack of cooperation.

"I could try to send a messenger to Seven Atolls, but it would take two weeks for him to get there, even by boat," Simeon supposed, beginning to cave in. "You may have to wait."

"It can be done, even if the wait is a month or two. It's worth it," agreed Tanser. "Will you, then?"

"Give me a messenger, and I will dispatch it. The money is of no use to me anymore, anyway," Simeon relented, looking defeated. "If something goes wrong, though, I bear no blame."

"Nothing will go wrong. If your mother hasn't found out by now, she will not anytime soon," Tanser assured him.

"I would not say that-"

"The matter is decided," he said to him. "As long as you provide us the money, we will provide you security and hospitality here. Lord Walker told us to trust you, and if he trusts you then so do we."

"I appreciate it," Simeon reiterated, sounding relieved to be finished with the procedures. "But I believe I have told you everything pertinent."

"That is all we need to know. You have provided us with plenty, and we are thankful for it," Sir Lyonel assured him.

"I have done the favor of securing housing for you. You will be with us here in the Quarters, but you will be secure and the housing is nice," Tanser informed him.

"Thank you, my-"

"Captain, will you lead Mr. Thell to his quarters? And post one of your number outside, just for security's sake," Tanser ordered, speaking to the guardsmen behind Simeon. The latter offered no resistance as he was helped out of his chair and led out of the conference room, his job now done. Tanser supposed he was lucky to be alive; without Lord Walker's intervention, he would've been tempted to execute the bastard just because of his bloodline. He didn't remember him from the trip to Thellden, but Sir Lyonel was an honest man, and perhaps he was right about Simeon's character.

"Do you trust him?" asked Tanser once Simeon was long gone. The two gathered their assorted papers, all the processing files, and paperwork, preparing to deliver them down to the Vault for safekeeping.

"Personally? Yes, I do, but that's gleaned from experience," Sir Lyonel admitted, packing his papers away in a felt-bound dossier.

"Remember his blood, Lyonel," warned Tanser. "And the legacy of his family. You know your history, correct?"

"Lord Kurnias was never much for history. Nor for books, really," Sir Lyonel admitted sheepishly. "I...had few encounters with history, even as a squire."

"The Thells have always been treacherous. You would be wise to learn more about them..._know your enemy_."

"I believe Simeon is different. There is something about him...he has this personality trait that makes him more trustworthy, at least to me," Sir Lyonel explained himself. Tanser was not pleased with that; it was not solid evidence, and provided little ground on which he could trust Simeon's character. He frowned despite himself.

"Your opinion matters much to me, Sir Lyonel, but I find him difficult to...trust," said Tanser, grimacing. "His blood is treacherous and he is technically our enemy. I do not like him."

"That is fair, m'lord-"

"You know Liam Caldwell is arriving?" Tanser asked.

Sir Lyonel was thrown off by the topic change. "I...yes, I was aware."

"I want preparations made to ensure he makes it here safely. That is on you, Sir Lyonel. We can discuss Simeon Thell at a later date, but we have more pressing matters now," Tanser said, packing up to leave.

"Of course, m'lord-"

"See to it that everything is prepared. I will not have our quarters in disorder when he arrives. You are dismissed."

Sir Lyonel left without further ado. He bowed and departed, leaving Tanser to turn the other way. He wanted no more talk about Simeon Thell, not tonight. It was already troubling enough to know the traitor was within his city; it was even more troubling to know Sir Lyonel trusted him.

Tanser did not. Not at all. He made up his mind to post extra guards at Simeon's door, just in case. He would not take any risks with that man.

VVVVV

17A was the largest of the islands that made up the Seven Atolls chain; about the size of the tiny Earth nation of Andorra, it was relatively large for an island and dwarfed some of the smaller ones. For those who wanted supplies, 17A was the place to stop; for a relatively cheap price, one could receive everything from ship repairs and food to petroleum and firearms. Compared to some of the other islands in the Seven Atolls, it was a cheap place for one to purchase necessities, and that was why Leon's small fleet was stopping there.

The three galleys churned through the sparkling cerulean ocean, their sails billowing in the warm tropical wind that blew them towards the island. Standing at the helm of the flagship with Darius, Leon saw the dull brown peaks of 17A rising in the distance, and figured it would be about another half hour before they arrived. They could get their supplies within an hour, pay up, and be on their way without trouble; it was another week to B'aileth, and they could not afford to waste any time.

But, untimely as ever, trouble came upon them. Leon and the helmsman spotted the dandelion yellow sail first, and then other members of the crew saw it. Currently upon the horizon, the Malluthean galley was streaming towards their fleet, making top speed with both sail and oars. Leon knew the Mallutheans were slavers, but one slaving vessel wouldn't pray on a fleet of three war galleys. Something else must have been up; he ordered the captain to keep course and wait until the other galley drew closer.

Whoever was on board, they weren't slavers; the birch-wood galley, despite its oars being worked by teams of slaves, was thronged with well-armed men dressed in copper scales and pot helmets, hardly the armament of local slavers. They were military, or at least paramilitary, and the captain of Leon's flagship ordered the sail briefly stowed in order to bring the ship to a halt. The other two ships, several hundred meters behind, did the same and came to a stop, sitting in restless waters.

"We must turn you back, foreigners!" called the captain, standing at his helm. His Turkish accent was thick and heady and he was difficult to understand above the noise of the ocean. Leon walked up to his ship's railing to speak with him.

"We will not cause a disturbance," Leon promised, shouting over the waves and the wind. "We are simply traveling to 17A to purchase supplies from their docks. There will be no trouble here."

"You cannot be allowed to continue. We have not had any ship come from the colony in a week!" the Malluthean captain reported, shouting back. "No contact, no messages. There may have been a disturbance."

"We must purchase supplies, we will not reach our destination for a week. It is a necessity," Leon argued with him, leaning over his ship's railing. His sailors gathered behind him, seeking the source of trouble.

"Purchase your supplies elsewhere!" the other captain called. "We cannot let you dock. The Elders have forbidden it, until we can figure out what is going on."

"We must continue," Leon insisted irritably. "It is imperative."

"We cannot allow that. If you insist on continuing and docking, we will be forced to attack you," the captain promised.

"Is that so?" asked Leon, looking back at the mass of sailors now gathering at the galley's railing. The two ships behind him had drawn closer as well, investigating the source of trouble. The captain of the Malluthean ship noticed this, and grimaced when he realized he was severely outnumbered, and possibly outgunned. Many of Leon's sailors were well armed, and a few of them were armored as well.

"You would lose many of your men," the other captain warned grimly.

"And you would lose all of them," Leon countered. "Let us pass."

It was true. If it came to fighting, Leon's ships would lose a fair number of their crew, but they could completely overwhelm the patrol galley.

"We will escort you. But you may dock," the captain begrudgingly allowed, after pondering the possibility for a moment. He backed away from the railing and his crew dispersed as he barked orders to them. Their bright yellow sail unfurled again and the oars beat against the water once more, driving the ship onwards towards the island. Leon gave the signal for his fleet to follow and their sails unfurled, allowing them to follow the Malluthean ship, albeit at a slower pace.

The low peaks of 17A rose as their ships approached. Leon's sailors tensely glanced over at the Malluthean ship as it sped ahead of them, racing towards the island's docks. Unsurprisingly, said docks were visibly abandoned; not a single galley or trireme waiting at their jetties, nor any modern supply ship. Not even dockhands were present, and the closer they drew the more abandoned it looked. Clean and proper and everything in place, but not a single sign of humanity. The Malluthean ship had already pulled up to a jetty and was unloading a small team of lightly-armed sailors, so it was clear they would be allowing Leon's fleet to dock.

"Have the other two vessels stay back and drop anchor. I'll only bring a few of my men," Leon ordered the captain, who happily obliged. Their ship pulled up to one of the clean, waterproofed jetties, retracted its sails and dropped anchor as the gangplank was lowered onto the docks.

"Darius, I'll want you with me. Bring a couple of your lieutenants, and their squires,"ordered Leon, making for the gangplank. The Malluthean team was waiting for them, and he didn't want to keep their captain waiting. He hurriedly grabbed his sword, his treasured golden blade, and rushed to meet them, followed by Darius and two of his lieutenants, Simons and Albrecht.

"We hear or see no one. Something must have occurred," the Malluthean captain informed Leon, his thick accent difficult to parse above the sound of marauding waves smashing against the brown rocks of the cliffs nearby, and the screech of numerous seagulls.

"What, do you think they all just up and left? Vanished?" asked Leon, the idea absurd. The aforementioned birds were swooping in overhead, and looking up one could see dozens, perhaps hundreds of them about the island, flying over the keep at highest point.

"I do not have an answer. That is why I am going to look," the captain replied indignantly. "If you would like to lead, you may."

"We'll take a look around. Darius, you and Albrecht with me. Keep an eye out, they don't like unexpected visitors here and we would do well not to surprise them," Leon ordered, marching down the jetties towards the dock's warehouses.

17A was owned by Standardized Energy, Inc., a massive energy conglomerate that held monopolies on petroleum/oil, natural gas, nuclear power and the tar sand industry. The island was of little value to any medieval society like Malluthea or its neighbor Bercarra, but its wealth in uranium and rare earth metals was incredible, and Standardized Energy had seized the opportunity a century ago to build a massive, slave-operated mining colony far away from the prying eyes of watchdog groups and government-paid whistleblowers. Malluthea and the banks of the Seven Atolls provided the slaves; SE provided plenty of money and, if necessary, protection. The last time a Kleisardathan fleet had tried to besiege Bercarra, some of the company's privately-owned frigates decimated them and forced them to withdrawal. The slave operations continued, and the mortality rate was rumored to be incredibly excessive due to poor conditions and radiation hot spots.

"Shouldn't someone be here by now?" Darius wondered as they crept through the docks.

"We haven't really announced our presence, but you're right. It's...empty," Leon observed, looking at the warehouses. They were full of goods, bags of food and giant logs, stone and metal set under tarps, but there were no workers.

The Malluthean team followed closely behind, eight in number. Leon kept looking over his shoulder, stealing glances at them to ensure they weren't trying to set an ambush, but they kept some distance and looked anxious and concerned. The captain's hand was on the pommel of his sword, and Leon knew that it was out of fear. He was worried about _being _ambushed, and hardly concerned about laying one.

"Do you smell anything...strange?" the captain called. He was speaking to his men, but Leon sniffed the air on instinct, and caught nothing peculiar.

"No, nothing. I smell salt, and decomposing wood, and metal...nothing unordinary," one of the sailors replied.

"Damn it all. I hate this place normally, but I hate it even more now,"

"We're passing the last of the warehouses. Entering the actual city," Leon warned. It was a glorified city, really, from what he had read in books. There was housing, facilities and storage for the NMR workers and slave overseers, as well as a headquarters and bunker. These, at the highest point in the island, overlooked the slave camps and open mining pits below, stretching all the way to the other sides of the rocky isle. Somewhere buried beneath the facilities was the reactor that powered the island and provided its free workers electricity. The slaves were not so lucky; they lived lives of squalor that would likely make them envy the slaves of Ais Kleisardathos.

"If the doors are locked, we should turn back," advised Darius, sounding nervous. "I do not like it here."

"We need supplies," Leon warned him.

"We can just steal from the warehouses!" said Darius.

"That's a last resort. If there's no one here, we can steal, but where the hell would they be?" Leon asked, just as confused as the rest. They were ascending the stairs to the headquarters and had encountered not a soul so far. Not even a guard or a watchman had ordered them to a halt. They could only hear seagulls, and saw hundreds of them in the blue sky above, circling the island.

The doors to the headquarters were, thankfully, unlocked, but even that was abandoned. Office rooms and meeting rooms were equally empty, everything in order but their occupants vanished. The living dormitories were in a similar state. The lights were out, the rooms were in order, the bedsheets were clean but every single occupant was gone. The electricity would not work, though, which was strange enough. No lightswitch worked, and the personal television sets in some of the rooms refused to turn on. The only noise came from outside, where the loud cackling of seagulls could be heard even in the depths of the dormitories.

"Everything is broken," the Malluthean captain claimed as he looked over a particularly well-decorated suite. "The lights do not work. The picture boxes do not work. Only the floating picture tablets work."

"Those don't require constant electrical charge," Leon said, taking the holophone from him and setting the instrument aside. "Anything that does, doesn't work."

"What do you think it is, Leon?" Darius whispered into his ear as they left, making to return to the main headquarters.

"I don't know for sure. It's...not right, though. We were correct about that," Leon said, trying not to succumb to the gut fear he was beginning to feel. The atmosphere hung around his head and he could smell damp dew in the air, which indicated that filtration systems had failed too. The island, or at least the modernized part of it, had gone into a total shutdown.

"You want us to go down into the camps?" Darius asked. "I'll take Albr-"

"We will all go. There's got to be something here," Leon said, leading the way back up out of the dormitories. It was likely the gymnasium and rec room were both equally abandoned; somewhere, on this island, there had to be people. And where were the slaves? Confined down in the camps?

They returned to the headquarters and found the stairwell leading down to the overlook, which would take them down to the camps. The stairwell looked like it had damage of some sort, as part of the wall had crumbled and there were visible cracks in the sealant plugging the gap between the drywall and the stairs themselves.

"This is the way," the Malluthean captain said, following Darius as he gently toed down the stairs. "Are we coming?"

"Hold on a moment," Leon called, his gut urging him to go another direction. The headquarters conference room had a veranda overlooking the pits below, perhaps that would be useful? He felt the need to walk over there and look down, to just see if he could spot _something_. He began taking careful steps in the direction of the veranda, uncertain of his reasoning for going over there, as Darius continued down the steps slowly.

"My Lord, where are you going?" Albrecht, sounding rather bemused, asked as he moved towards Darius.

"I'll be over in a mo-"

Leon's voice was drowned out by the sounds of cracking drywall, crunching paneling and crumbling cement reverberating throughout the building as the stairwell partially collapsed. Leon turned just in time to see Darius and one of the Mallutheans disappear into the hole, a cloud of dust rising out of the newly formed maw. Thankfully, they had not fallen very far, because Darius stood up immediately and cried out.

"I'm okay, I'm good! Help me up!" he shouted, coughing and hacking from the dust. Albrecht had already rushed over to the scene, eager to help Simons with their captain.

Leon, however, remained frozen; he had a sick feeling in his stomach, a contraction of his throat, and he took tentative steps over to the window, daring to look out. Approaching the panes, he could see a vast expanse of tents, mining pits, housing shacks and sewage canals, stretching for a good mile or two.

And bodies, bodies everywhere.

A carpet of brown corpses, bloated and rotting in the tropical sun, presented itself. That was why so many seagulls were there; hundreds were bouncing from corpse to corpse, picking away at dead flesh and fighting over remains. The gate linking the camps and mines to the overseer complex had been barred and locked, and hundreds of bodies were piled up against it, as if they had been in a desperate bid to escape when they succumbed to their fate. As far as he could see, Leon could see bodies, left to decompose under the luscious blue sky. It felt as if the entire world had ceased to breathe.

And it all clicked. The power failure, the masses of dead, the abandonment, the lack of communication - he knew what had happened.

They had to leave. _Immediately_.

"Get them _out _of there!" he shrieked when he realized the men had failed to retrieve Darius and the fallen crewman. The stairwell had collapsed into a hollow area full of piping and wires, and the Mallutheans were struggling to retrieve them without falling in themselves.

"Lord Walker, they're unhu-"

"We need to leave, now!" Leon shouted, interrupting Albrecht violently.

"We are hurrying our best," the captain promised, reaching for his crewman's extended hand.

Leon pushed past Sergeant Simons to reach for Darius. "No, we need to _go_!"

"We're _trying!_"

"The nuclear reactor failed. Everyone here is dead," Leon told them, dragging Darius up and out with all his might. His knee was scraped on a jagged edge of paneling and he swore as it tore into his flesh, but Leon did not relent, and pulled him up and out.

"I do not understand how," the captain admitted, but looked gravely disturbed. Already Albrecht, sensing trouble, rushed to the veranda as the crewman was pulled out. Leon could hear him swear all the way from the other side of the room.

"The staff must've fled when they realized they couldn't control their reactor," Leon hypothesized, making to leave. "The slaves were all locked down there. Dead by radiation poisoning within a day, likely."

Nobody argued with him. Those who looked out the veranda saw nothing but the field of bodies, and had no compelling reason to stay. Those who did not ran with the crowd, grasping the gravity of the situation.

They didn't even bother to steal any of the food. They could stop at Malluthea, or perhaps even try to make it to B'aileth. It wasn't worth staying any longer; they had to leave. The four ships hastily swooped away from 17A, leaving behind the shrieking of hungry seagulls and the tranquil tropical breeze.


	10. Dwerhold

Turning his eyes east, Will could see the great city rise before him. The seven-tiered city of Dwerhold, built in seven levels ascending up the steep, rocky slopes of the Rokyal Range, was a wondrous metropolis that recalled his old memories of the glorious, graceful architecture of Swampheart. The city's walls, encased in bronze, shone dully in the afternoon sun and gleamed like a beacon for travelers near and far. As they grew closer he could make out the major buildings in the city, as well as the great bronze monuments to the Twelve Listeners erected in the center of the top level. The mountain rose mightily above the city; even with its seven levels, Dwerhold barely crept up the side of the great peak, which scraped the clouds with its snowcapped summit. Dozens of other mountains stretched to the north and the south, growing larger and taller the farther north they were.

Aeric's mouth hung half agape as he looked up at the great bronze walls and their battlements. "Thellden is so plain compared to this."

"And your walls were only stone," Will scoffed, managing a smile as they approached the open gate. The two figures overlooking it were hardly statues; they were golems, standing sentry as motionless as a mountain until they were bid to move by their masters. They betrayed no hint of sentience or life as the caravan passed beneath them and into the gatehouse.

"Thellden is hardly an ancient city," said Will as they passed into the lowest level. "Dwerhold is among the oldest. The library back home had a lot of writings about this place."

"I've only heard about it in passing," Aeric mused sadly. "Down in Thellden, the only thing people care about is...well, Thellden."

"Such narcissism," Will commented. "Unhealthy, I'd say."

The buildings of Dwerhold were made of cut stone and mortar, constructed very similarly to brickwork. There was almost no thatch or timber-frame to be seen, unlike in Thellden; houses and buildings were all built out of stone or, in rarer cases, marble, and had a very simple design to them. Each house was a square, complete with a tiled roof, and most buildings were cubic or rectangular, with similar roofing. Only the city bank and council chambers, two very visible structures, were made out of marble and decorated in a more artistic style, fountains and great colonnades decorating their entrances. The caravan of brusque, heavily-armed men was ignored by most of the citizenry, who were used to seeing treasure hunters and adventurers pour into their city.

Will had told Aeric about Dwer on the way up to the city. The venerated ruins had once been a city themselves, dug out of the mountains during a time of great empires millennia ago. The architects, funded by great mining operations and continent-wide trade, had dug deeper and deeper and constantly expanded the city into levels plunging into the earth. It was estimated hundreds of thousands lived within the mountains, ensconced from the dangerous world without, and the architects delved ever deeper in their quest to expand the city to its greatest potential. And then, apparently, the records had no idea what happened; communication with the city ceased, and traders who went there a few years later found that all of Dwer had been abandoned, its inhabitants vanished into the darkness. Few signs of struggle, no conquering force inhabiting the city, just nothing but darkness and silence.

Nobody came to Dwer after that. Empires rose and fell, trade expanded, the industrial revolution occurred, the Disaster wrought its havoc, the server opened up, people returned to these lands, and Dwerhold was built. But very few dared to touch Dwer itself; the name was spoken in hushed tones, out of fear. It had acquired an almost mythical personality over the centuries, and many spoke of great treasures buried in the city by the architects, who hid their riches and secrets to prevent prying eyes from stealing them. That was why so many adventurers came to Dwerhold; they were seeking what the architects had potentially given their lives to protect.

"It seems like such an expensive city to build," muttered Aeric, looking up at the other six levels, each smaller than the last and hugging the mountain tighter.

"They managed, somehow," Will replied. "People say Dwerhold is a thousand years old. I'm not certain of that, but it might be possible."

"Thellden is not even two hundred. How does a city last that long?"

"I can't say. I'm not an architect," Will said, shrugging. If he was an architect, his life would be radically different right now. He would be back in Swampheart, enjoying life at home instead of being stuck on the other side of a giant mountain range.

They ascended one of the great stone ramps to the second level - the Business Level - where traders flocked the three great markets. This was where their inn would be located; most of the inns and taverns were built here, where there was enough space to accommodate masses of travelers and incoming adventurers. Five-story tall hostels dominated the scene, all of them carved out of stone as well, and the streets were crammed with horses, smelly men dressed in furs and leather, and shrewd-looking men hawking their wares and making bargains with gruff foreigners and stoic locals.

The inn they had paid for was rather crowded but much nicer-looking than some of the other seedy locales. The bouncers here were armed, bearing long daggers at their hips, and most of the men looked like respectable, professional treasure hunters. As with every inn, there were a few layabouts and louts submerged in their ale, waiting for a fight to start, but they were outnumbered by the professionals. These men were like Rikken and Anoth, dedicated treasure hunters who were well-trained, well-armed, and hardly the scum of the streets. They had a purpose for being in Dwerhold, and they were respectful towards the barkeep and his assistants.

"We will be taking to the ruins on Monday, after the weekend," Anoth spoke to them as they gathered around him in the common room of the inn. "Everyone will have plenty of time to rest before we descend."

"We have everything already paid for?" someone asked.

"Rooms and board, yes," replied Anoth. "If you want to enjoy the local flavor or go drink yourself half to death, that's on you. But you have the weekend until we head into Dwer." A few of the men laughed, but they all dispersed rather quickly when he finished, eager to sleep in a good bed after weeks of being on the road almost uninterrupted. Nobody wanted to drink themselves stupid, not tonight.

Will wanted to sleep, too, but Aeric wished to see the city before night fell completely. Will was tired, having been mounted on a horse for twelve hours a day for the past week, but Aeric seemed really desperate to get some fresh air before bed and Will, his legs protesting against his actions, decided to go with him just to humor him. Aeric seemed particularly excited to be entering one of the market fora, his face lit up like a kid in a candy shop, and it was kind of amusing in a cute way.

"We won't be out for long, don't worry," Aeric promised as they left the heated confines of the inn, exiting into the chilly embrace of the northern night. "I just want to take a look around!"

"As long as we stay on this level, okay?"

"Promise,"said Aeric , already running off. Despite the late hour, the market was crowded and well-lit by hundreds of shining oil lamps, all of them cast out of bronze. It seemed like the entire city was built around the cheap metal, even the guardian homunculi.

Aeric ran ahead and bounced from stall to stall, eager to check out their wares. People called prices at him, but he ignored them, more interested in gazing at the items than purchasing them. Will tried to keep up, glad to see he was enjoying himself, and even he was enthralled by some of the wares in the displays.

In one shop there was displayed a whole assortment of cured furs, the likes of which neither man had ever seen. There were smaller ones, of beavers, minks, opossums and weasels, but also one of a great bear that was splayed out upon the back wall, its skull on a pedestal nearby.

"I've never even seen a bear before," Aeric said, looking at the description of the fur. "Hell, rarely even heard of it…"

"There's a lot of things up here that you've never heard of. The north can be a wild land," Will said, appreciating the size of the bear's fur. He had heard the legends about the great beasts - the farther north you traveled, the larger they grew. That seemed to be the law of nature for most animals in this world. Even unassuming things like birds were rumored to be great beasts in the northern icecaps; not that anyone _really _knew that, because travelers never returned if they went that far.

Will eventually found himself drinking in Aeric's energy, more and more excited to be exploring the market the more he saw. There was finely crafted pottery from Larklund, powerful iron and moonstone weapons crafted in Hardshore, simple crafts and wood sculptures from Redwoods, fabrics and weavings from North Driftmist, hunting trophies and finely crafted yew bows from out of Pinesrush, and so much more. Copper jewelry from the Bight could be found here, and there could be found even some metalwork from the Ditch. No items from Thellden, though; Aeric was a little disappointed to see that his city was not represented in the menagerie of items presented before him.

"It's so impressive, though," he regaled Will as they strolled out of the market and towards the level's ramparts. Each segment of Dwerhold had its own wall separating it from the bottom level, and from there one could look out onto the level below. The sun was setting and Aeric wanted to watch it, just for a bit.

"I'm...I'm impressed too, to be honest," he admitted, glad he had come out to see.

"On first impression, I think I'm going to like it here." Aeric gazed eagerly at the bustling cityscape encircling him. "We're...settling down for a while, right?"

Will responded with a supportive nod of his head, but that head was swimming with questions. How would they be able to pay for themselves? Where would they stay? _Was _there a place they could stay indefinitely? And would they fit in with the locals? It wasn't a simple matter of physical translocation; they had to adapt and adopt the customs, and try to fit in while they stayed. Aeric seemed to be refusing to tackle the difficult questions, instead opting for an optimistic fantasy.

"Yes, love. We'll be here for a while...I think we'll do alright," Will said, grasping his partner's hand.

Aeric squeezed Will's hand in return. "I'm glad you finally came through about that. I...was worried."

"I think we can make it. If we get rich, we won't have to worry about money, too!" Will thought aloud.

It was highly unlikely they would get rich. They would receive their cut of the loot from Anoth, provided they found anything, and then his party would depart, leaving them in this cold city. They could be worse places, to be fair.

"That would be nice, to not have to worry about...stuff like that."

"Let's sit for a minute. You want to watch the sunset?" Will asked. Aeric agreed, and they took a seat on a stone balustrade on the ramparts and looked west as the sun dipped below the horizon, disappearing into distant lands.

"Are you certain you still want to settle down here?" Aeric asked, putting his head on Will's shoulder. That movement was oddly comforting and Will felt at ease as the stars glimmered overhead and the last light of the sun was extinguished by nightfall.

"...temporarily, yes. Why do you ask again?" Will asked, after a pause. Deep conversation was something he wanted to avoid currently, just to avoid ruining this little peaceful moment.

"I just want to make sure. I want to make sure that we're doing the right thing. I want to get you home, Will, don't be mistaken, but...I just don't know how. Y'know?"

"Yeah, I know." Will sighed despite himself. "I don't either. But we'll figure it out."

"Together?"

"Of course." Will replied, as if it were obvious. "But let's talk about it later. Now is not the time."

He turned and kissed Aeric on the forehead, parting his mousy hair as he did so. He was a naive little boy, but he was cute, and deep down Will loved him for everything he was. He just wanted to return home, and then he'd be happy - even if it meant punishment and scorn for his failure. Whatever happened, it would always be home.

VVVVV

The farmers were the first to see the strange man stumbling through the fields beyond Stallhart. Harvesting their potato crops and moving their tools into storage for the imminent winter, the peasants were initially confused when they came upon the injured man, who looked to be in poor shape. One of them, a sharper tool than most, thought to return to the keep and alert some authority to his presence, while the rest did what they could to attend to him. The potatoes forgotten, they took him into the tiny quartermaster's hall in the hamlet of Skagway, home to seventy-five weary farmers and woodsmen, and kept him there until someone important arrived.

The aforementioned lowly peasant by the name of Donald, mulling his mediocre existence, told a bored gate guard about the situation and then returned to his farm, hoping to dig up a few more baskets of life-giving potatoes before sundown. While Donald was entirely forgotten by everybody except himself, the gate guard referred the story to his sergeant, the sergeant told the guard captain, the guard captain informed Sergeant Stellmeier, and the dutiful sergeant relayed the action to Lord Matthew Cook. And that was how Ablyn Cullen found his way into Stallhart.

He had received some sort of injury from a crossbow bolt, although the bolt had been extracted some time ago. The wound was now clearly infected - even Matt, hardly practiced in the medicinal arts, could tell. The guards had to manhandle him into submission as he writhed in pain, asking loudly where he was. Nobody would answer him, not yet; he had to be taken to Brudina Tolthor, the only person in Stallhart capable of healing him.

The plump, round little woman was quite surprised to see the stranger being hauled into her dim, smoky shop, but she accepted him without protest. Taking him behind the counter and into a back room, she laid his inert body on a bed and began looking over the wound, silent the entire time.

"It is badly infected. The flesh is rotting and I'm not sure if I can do anything about it," Brudina admitted after thorough inspection.

"He will die otherwise. Is there _anything _you can do?" asked Matt.

"Oh, m'lord, I will try, I promise that," she mumbled, fumbling around a nearby cabinet for supplies. "I just need poultices and time! And some space, if you please, m'lord!"

Matt backed out of the room as she maneuvered past him, heading for her stores.

"Arthur! Attend the counter!" she shouted, calling at her assistant. "I am engaged, yes, _very _engaged. Apologies, m'lord, for the hustle, but I must work quick."

"You are excused," Matt said, rather concerned about the situation. Whoever this man was, he could tell he was Thell by the insignia he wore and the damp, moldy papers stuffed into his shirt. Whether or not he was from Castiron, they did not know; they would learn that soon enough, he hoped.

There was nothing more he could do here, and following the lead of Sergeant Stellmeier he left the tiny herbalist's shop, leaving the rather bemused and silent Arthur behind as Brudina toiled in the back room. The chilly autumn air outside cut into his light clothing as he made his way back to the keep with the rest of the convoy.

"What do you think I should do, Sergeant?" Matt asked, probing for advice.

"Wait and see. If he lives, well, that's something. If he dies, that's an altogether different matter," Stellmeier said, mulling aloud.

"Clearly," Matt agreed. "But what if he lives?"

"He's a Thell man - spy, scout, or deserter we do not know," said the sergeant. "But it is wise to question him and, if need be, keep him under watch."

"You want me to keep him in the jail?"

"The security there is rated for drunks and pickpockets, but it'll have to do. I'd say extra guards on him, once he's interrogated," Stellmeier advised.

"Do you want me to be rough with the interrogation, or do - ah, goddamnit."

Matt stopped his sentence when he noticed Avery Steadwin standing at the gate of the keep, looking rather upset that he hadn't been invited to the welcoming party. He remained calm as Matt approached, but it was clear he was right pissed about being left behind.

"I wasn't told we had an emergency," he said when they approached. Matt could see the fire cooking in his eyes and knew he had to step daintily around this. Avery already disliked him; making a complete enemy was exactly what he _didn't _want to do.

"It's not an emergency. Everything's fine," Matt reassured him, strolling past him into the keepyard. Naturally, the nagging little bastard followed, to his annoyance.

"Who is he? A Thell, is what I hear?"

"We're not sure _who _he is exactly, but he needs medical aid. He's badly injured," Matt replied.

"Why wasn't I told about this when you were? This is important-"

"You do not rate as high as the liege lord." Stellmeier shut Avery down when Matt could not. "I would advise that you do not carry this matter further." Avery meekly obeyed, for the time being.

"What do you plan on doing with him?" he asked once they reentered the keep. Matt kept marching up towards the planning room, where they always convened for discussion.

"I'm not sure yet. We tend to him first, and then interrogate him," Matt replied as they entered the room.

"Why not just kill him?" suggested Avery.

"That would be _unwise_," Stellmeier warned, growing uneasy with Avery's presence. The boy was too obtuse and unaware of the sergeant's disdain.

"I agree with Sergeant Stellmeier. That could cost us vital info. We need to find out where he came from, what he was doing, and who he is," Matt explained, himself quite impatient with Avery but unwilling to commit to shutting him down. He wanted to walk a thin line here, not fall into any pitfall.

"He's Thell, he's the enemy. Why not just execute him? Or, execute him after that?"

"Again, unwise," said Matt. "Killing him gains us nothing."

"My lord, I appeal to you...trust me! Keeping him alive will be bad for everyone involved!" Avery claimed. He was met with cold stares, and instantly realized nobody would be listening to him. He set his jaw and grimaced at the two men.

"I will not be insulted if you're just going to shoot me down or stare at me," Avery claimed, throwing his hands up in the air to mime surrender.

"Avery-"

"You've let the enemy into our town, and now you're going to keep him? You will bring death on someone, I promise," Avery growled at Matt, and then stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Neither man spoke for a short bit, both bemused.

"Brat," Stellmeier spat after he was long gone. "He'll get over it."

"I, well, I hope so," Matt stammered, feeling a wretched knot in his stomach. He was hoping that it was just a moment of weakness for Avery.

"Don't let him get to you. His hatred of Thellden will often cloud his logic," Stellmeier reassured him.

"I don't want him to be an enemy-"

"He won't be. I believe we already discussed this?"

"Yeah...sort of," Matt recalled, feeling awkward now. "Sorry."

"The matter at hand is this...stranger. I believe you were right to agree with me. We ought to keep him under lock and key but keep him alive. Depending on who he is, he could be valuable to us," Stellmeier said.

"What if he's dangerous? Or refuses to cooperate?"

"Well, then, Avery gets his wish. Or, if you think that's what we should do," Stellmeier said. "He could be thrown back out, too."

"I want to see how cooperative he is. And I want to be the one interrogating him," Matt decided.

"Are you sure, my Lord?" asked Stellmeier, a hint of doubt in his voice. There could be none of that, no.

"Positive," he replied sternly. "Will you have everything set up, provided he is healthy enough?"

"I will do that," Stellmeier promised, bowing sharply. "Are you all finished here?"

"I will go take a look at him later, but for now we are done," Matt replied. He felt exhausted all of a sudden, and just wanted to go to bed, even though it was hours from sundown.

Most of the rest of his day was spent looking over the maps in that same goddamn room, studying them for no clear-cut reasons. They existed for information, but he was just re-reading the names over the diamonds again and again, familiarizing himself with the world around him. Castiron Hill and Stallhart were almost perfectly aligned on a north-south axis, with the former being nearly directly south of Stallhart. He wondered if this was purely accidental, or whether it had been initially designed that way.

Night had fallen by the time Matt was called by Stellmeier out into the town. Matt was forced to throw on some extra leather to keep the biting chill out, and a steady rain was falling on Stallhart as he strode out, his path lit by a lone lantern, into the empty, silent village.

"He's doing much better than he was before," Brudina informed them when questioned, lighting a few candles around her shop as the two entered. "Conscious, actually...but not very."

"You think he'll make it?" asked Matt, making his way past the counter.

"Oh, of course he'll make it, m'lord! If I may say so myself, I've done a fair job on him!"

"How long do you think it will take before we can...examine him?" Matt inquired, looking into his room. The newcomer was splayed out on the bed, his sheets dirtied and a little bloody, but he looked alive and appeared far more vibrant than he did when he arrived. Brudina had likely saved his life.

"Oh, a few days at most," she replied heartily. "The wound was not as severe as I had thought, once I cleaned out some of the rotted flesh and a few maggots," Brudina said, rather delightedly.

"Good, good, that is excellent then," Matt interjected, rather disgusted and hardly in the mood for visceral details. "We just need to know all we can about him. Can you keep him here, then?"

"Oh, I suppose so...I mean, a little old woman like me can fend for herself, m'lord! I'll let you know if he causes trouble, though," Brudina promised them.

"I doubt he will. Just make sure he stays alive," Stellmeier told her.

"Of course, m'lords, that I can promise."

They took one last look at the sleeping Thell, and then bid Brudina Tolthor goodnight. She cheerily bid them the same, and went about extinguishing her candles. Matt sincerely hoped she was planning on locking the man's door when she went to bed. Hell, he was going to lock his own door - he had no idea who this man was, but he was not going to take chances.

VVVVV

Saturday dawned cold on the tiered city of Dwerhold. The sky reigned pale and serene above, and luscious sunbeams beat down on the tiled rooftops of the city's houses as it came to life.

Will was awake long before Aeric; he was used to being up early in the morning, and washing with cold water before beginning the day's chores. However, there were no chores to do. The staff at the inn took care of cleaning, washing, firewood and anything inbetween, and the cooks were already preparing breakfast food when he got down to the nearly empty common room. A few of Anoth's men were sitting in a booth, conversing quietly with one another, but other than them the common room was nearly deserted. Will hesitantly walked over to them and took a seat with them, seeing no other alternative since Aeric was still asleep.

"Breakfast will be out soon. Have a seat," one of them offered him, moving aside to give him room. He gratefully took the seat and bid them good morning.

"Where you from, kid?" one of the younger men asked. "Ibin never told us much, just said you were novice adventurers.

"I come from...ah, I was from Dunnefold. But I fled to the Ditch...for obvious reasons," Will lied, preferring a false backstory to the risk of honesty. If questioned about Dunnefold at all, he knew his story would collapse completely, so he hoped they would take it for face value.

"War refugee, eh? I'm sorry for your loss, kid," the man apologized, sounding genuine.

"Where was your family?" asked someone else.

"I don't know. We were separated," Will lied again. At least it was eliciting some pity, which made them less likely to question him.

"That entire province is trashed. What a mess," the second man muttered.

"Sorry about everything that's going on down there. You'll find success up here though, I promise ya that," the younger man apologized again.

"Anoth knows what he's doing. Rikken might be a bit green, but Anoth's a true veteran," someone else agreed.

"What should I be expecting when we go into Dwer?" Will asked out of the blue. He was curious.

They were unable to answer his question momentarily; there was a stifling silence, and someone coughed awkwardly while one of the adventurers tried to come up with an answer.

"Well, I can try to explain," an older man volunteered. "You ever read about it, boy?"

"Very little," Will answered sheepishly, now realizing all eyes were on him. He just wanted a straight answer, that was all.

"It's a ruin, but...not in the sense of most ruins. It's abandoned and some parts have collapsed or received damage, but for the most part it's, ah, in good shape," the older man began explaining.

"One could live in it if they wanted," added another.

"_If_. It's habitable, and beautiful in some areas. It's truly a city, carved out of the mountain and built within great caverns. No one really knows how deep those caverns go; no one has reached the bottom."

"_Nobody_?" asked Will incredulously.

"Not a soul. Parties keep trying, but they never get far enough. They've gone deeper than the city, but the caverns and great underground rivers keep running deeper," the older man said. "There's no treasure down there, but some explorers, well, they keep on trying, just for the sake of finding the end."

"They generally meet their own end before they find the cave's," someone said, chuckling darkly. His joke was met with some laughter, but the older man who was talking to Will shot a dark glance at him. Most of the men paid little heed to the two as they continued.

"Dwer is essentially built into several levels, like the city, but its levels are vertical. They are all built concentrically around a giant sinkhole-esque cavern in the mountain, which leads down into more caverns and tunnels below," he explained.

"I follow," Will promised, trying to visualize such a monstrous creation in his head. It was like imagining a drill, wider at the top and quite narrow at the bottom, surrounded by a multi-tiered city cut out of the ancient stone.

"The city's old business district is at the top, along with the palace," the older man continued. "The next two levels were residential, we presume, and then below that is industry and the treasury. That's where we'd be going; there's a lot down there that's unexplored, and there's treasure to be found."

"The great empires used to bury their coin in mountain vaults. There's been two found, but we believe there are more," someone added.

"That's where the treasure lies. Below that there's a series of tombs that we won't go to, and that's where the city ends, at that bottom. Below that...well, there's nothing worthwhile."

"There's the promise, too," the person beside Will said.

"That there is a load of bullshit," the older man swore, growling. "You believe that?"

"I want to hear it," said Will, objecting when the older man tried to silence him.

"It's nonsense," the older man promised, but his opponent carried on.

"There's scrawl at the doorway to Dwer, that's been highlighted so travelers can see it easier. It says something along the lines of... 'Whoever enters this lonely place must yield one of theirs to leave freely', or something like that. Point is, never go into Dwer alone," he explained.

"It's just a myth. Accidents happen, why should they be attributed to a curse?"

"I never said I believed it," the other man retorted, defending his position. "I'm just explaining it to him. He deserves to know."

"So...it means someone will always die if they enter?" asked Will for clarification.

"That's the gist of it, yes. Whether by accident or some other mishap, one life from each party is claimed. That's why some are wary of Dwer, because they don't roll dice like that."

"But again, accidents happen. I, for one, don't believe in the myth."

"It sounds like a relatively safe place," said Will.

"And it is. There's really nothing to worry about, unless you go below the city," the older man promised. "Then, you might run into trouble. But we won't be doing that."

"There's not much to it. Follow Anoth's directions, and you'll be good," the man next to him said.

Will was now quite unsettled by all of this. If it came to blades he would be able to hold his own, for sure; the journey from North Driftmist had been no trouble, even though they had been concerned about bandit raids. He was able to fight if he needed to, but there was no way he could prevent a cave-in or collapse that might cost him his life. That was what he was afraid of, something he couldn't prevent.

He ate with them, a breakfast of warm bread and cold venison, but afterwards went out into the city, heading for wherever the archives were to do some research of his own. The men had bickered between one another over Dwer, and none of them could reach a consensus about how dangerous it was or what precautions to take or _why _certain things happened there. Will needed another source, and he left a note for Aeric informing him of his departure. He was still fast asleep in bed, and Will decided not to wake him.

The cold wind nipped at Will's flesh and forced him to pull his furs tighter across his shoulders as he walked down to the first tier. The archives were squat, hardly taller than the average house, but they were wide and extended across a few city blocks _at least_. Nestled up against the walls of the second tier, and built into the edge of the mountain, they were easily dismissed upon first glance, but Will noticed them quickly. The signs on the main avenues helped guide him to his destination, and within fifteen minutes he was down on the first tier, at the great ebony doors to the archives.

The front deskman eyed him curiously as he entered, marking him as a foreigner by his attitude and speech patterns. Will, while hardly different from your average Dwerhold citizen, stood out a bit when compared to them, if you looked closely enough. He inquired about research and books on Dwer, and while he was met with a pause and a grumbled reply he was led down the aisles stocked full of books and directed to a certain, small section of old tomes and scholarly literature.

"I take it you're one of those treasure hunters?" the librarian asked as he directed Will to a few shelves of information.

"I am," replied Will.

"You've been warned. That place is strange and has been even stranger lately. People keep disappearing in large numbers and going into that mountain would be unwise."

"I'm just trying to learn more, thanks," Will said, dismissing him. The librarian strode away, perhaps a little miffed, but Will sat down on a nearby bench with one of the books in hand, flipping through the pages for pertinent content.

The book he was reading, by a certain T.A. Silverius, was full of illustrations of the ancient city and its contingent parts. Here Will could see a sketch of what the men had described to him earlier, the "drill" structure of the city that was about a mile wide at the top and less than a hundred feet wide at the bottom. There were illustrations of houses and apartment buildings, expertly chiseled out of the mountain's stone, and a sketch of the ruins of what looked like a once grand palace, missing a wall and apparently damaged by debris. There was very little on what lay below Dwer, just a few notes and mentions of a "cavern, with long corridors and smaller chambers adjacent to it".

Will hadn't learned much from the book that he hadn't already been told, unfortunately, but the pictures gave him some visual, enough for him to imagine what it would be like when they descended. Aeric's wild dreams of getting rich and living life easy were more and more distant now that Will realized what they were getting into. Even if the "curse" was false, the place seemed inherently dangerous, especially since the illustrations showed parts of the ruins had collapsed. And that book was, what, one hundred and fifty years old? How much could have changed in that massive interval of time? That was what worried him; he wouldn't be able to live with himself if, by some awful accident, Aeric died or was injured down there seeking a phantom fortune.

It was late by the time he decided to head home. He searched through the rest of the content that the librarian had recommended to him, but much of it was useless. There was commentary from famous treasure hunters, long chunks of boring history Will had no interest in, a few illustrations of the Mountain Door and parts of the ruins, but nothing new. Very little mentioned about the words above the door, too, except for a dry footnote in one of the books:

"Often dismissed as a myth, these words come true more often than not. Attributed to accidents, however, as deaths often occur from falling, structural collapses or unfortunate souls becoming lost."

Will wondered how many people had died down there over the years, and how many had actually managed to strike it rich in comparison. The dichotomy between the statistics was likely jaw-dropping. Maybe Will was just being pessimistic, and should listen to Aeric more.

He returned back to the second level after checking the books back in, and shook the negative thoughts out of his head. Aeric should be right; everything was going to be alright. They would settle down for a while, wait until peace had returned to the world and things had become quiet again, and then Will could head home. And Aeric could join him!

The inn was raucous and rife with celebration, as ale was cheap and the kitchen continued to churn out hot food on an industrial scale. Each table was packed with adventurers and spelunkers, dressed in matted furs and dirty leather, and their rough, bellowing voices beset Will's ears as he jostled through the crowd on his way back to his quarters. He was in no mood for a party, even though he was certain someone called his name through the din and invited him to a drink. He just needed some sleep.

"Where were you all day? At the library?" asked Aeric curiously when Will returned, locking the door behind him.

"Yeah, I was just...doing some reading," Will informed him.

"Yeah, I know. Are you nervous?"

"I...no, I just wanted to be better informed. That's all," Will lied. Of course he was nervous, and he was surprised that Aeric _wasn't_. Was he just that optimistic about the descent?

"We'll be alright Will, I promise. I talked to Ibin today, actually, and he told me that the place is much safer now than it was before. There's safety equipment and structural supports and bridges and stuff like that now, so you don't have to worry."

"I appreciate it," said Will.

"I know you're worried about me, too. If we stick together, I think we'll be just fine," Aeric promised.

"I wasn't gonna leave you," Will said, smiling. "Wasn't planning on it."

"I didn't think so!"

"Where have you been today?" Will asked, noticing the dirt on Aeric's boots.

"Just about everywhere! Kind of," Aeric replied. "I've been exploring. Just...all over the city. I couldn't help myself."

Will had to smile at that notion. Aeric seemed to be loving Dwerhold; a fresh location, fresh places to see, and a beautiful environment to explore. As naturally curious as he was, the city was like one giant exhibition to him, full of interesting sounds and sights.

"I'm glad you're having fun. I suppose you haven't gone house hunting yet?"

"Ohhhh, don't be so pushy," Aeric joked. "I'll look for a cute little bungalow eventually."

"Well, you've got a myriad of options. They're all made out of stone, for one."

"As long as we get nice feather pillows, I can live with stone," said Aeric. He was already undressing for bed, throwing his clothes to the side. Will, too, was in no mood to stay up late. He was exhausted, even though he had only visited one location today.

"Ready for bed, I take it?"

"I've been pretty busy today," Will said. "I'm really tired."

"That's alright, I'm sleepy too. We have to get up early tomorrow morning, anyway."

"Do we?" asked Will.

"Rikken said he wants to brief everybody the day before. Just for safety, I think."

"Whatever he wants," Will muttered. He stripped his shirt off and lay down in bed beside Aeric, extinguishing the candle before he pulled the covers up over himself. The blankets were soft wool and the top cover made of fur, which negated the cold completely.

At first, he simply couldn't get to sleep. He tossed and turned a few times, and found himself rubbing up against Aeric's warm body. His eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, and he could see that Aeric, too, was having difficulty falling asleep and lay wide awake, staring up at the rafters.

After about half an hour passed, he couldn't help himself. He turned over and hugged Aeric tightly, placing his head on his partner's shoulder.

"Something wrong?" Aeric asked drowsily, turning over to face him.

"I just...really can't sleep. Sorry."

"Nah, it's okay. I'm awake over here, too," Aeric said, and returned the hug. They remained there only briefly, wrapped together.

Will knew he needed to go to sleep, especially after doing so much research earlier. But the appeal of Aeric was too much; he found his hands running all over his boyfriend's body, stroking his back and neck lovingly. He couldn't help himself.

"I thought you said you wanted to sleep?" said Aeric.

"I can't," Will grumbled, turning over to face his partner.

"Aww, well, poor you," Aeric cooed, wrapping his arms around his hips. "Do you need a goodnight kiss?"

"Maybe a little more than that…"

Aeric pressed his body into Will's and let their lips connect, fondling his muscular neck and shoulders as they made out. Naked besides underwear, they were exposed to each other and were able to explore each other's bodies without issue.

Will pressed his head into Aeric's shoulder and kissed the soft flesh of his neck, nipping just a little bit at it to make Aeric tense. He felt his partner's hands reach around his head and pull him back up for another kiss, satisfying his thirst and sating his desire for intimacy.

"You're active tonight. What's up?" asked Aeric, breaking away from the kiss.

Will messed with Aeric's hair. "I just...felt like it," he explained. "It's fun."

"Hmm. It is," Aeric agreed. "Only with you, though."

"Goodnight Aeric. Sweet dreams," Will whispered into his ear. He wasn't sure if he was ready to commit to love, but this was close.  
"You too," Aeric whispered back.

They kissed one last time before finally coming to a stop, locked in each other's arms. And that is where they fell asleep, collapsing into unconsciousness until early the next morning.

VVVVV

"Vive, servire, morere!"

The shouting of the recruits training a level above him echoed in his ears as his fist slammed against the bulkhead of the portal, an empty and lifeless square. There was nothing here; the portal was dead, the pendant was destroyed, and any sign of its destroyers had vanished. Konstantin Raam was at a dead end, despite his recent successes.

"Why didn't you tell me it was broken?" he asked, his echo reverberating harshly off of the chamber's concrete walls.

"That was not pertinent, I felt."

The man's skin was extraordinarily pale and his eyes unnaturally purple, with hair black as a void. He looked rather serene and comfortable within the darkness of the silent portal chamber, appearing almost bored. _The Enderborn_, they called him, a monster within a man. His mere presence made Raam uncomfortable, but he had to grin and bear it for as long as his boss ordered him to. If he disobeyed an order, the paychecks would stop, and that would be an unfortunate event.

"My employer wanted that pendant. And this portal is damn useless," Raam cursed.

"I am sorry. But why do you need the portal, when you have me?" the Enderborn asked. That was a good question, and Raam was temporarily stifled, unable to reply.

"I can give you all you want, and more," the Enderborn promised, speaking when Raam failed to deliver. "The portal is a mere physical manifestation of the power that I am born from, and the power that my master wields. It is useless now."

"I was simply following orders. I was not aware-"

"Your employer has been quite kind to me, and his unification of my forces and yours will be beneficial to us both. I am here to help you, Konstantin Raam, you must realize that."

"I do," Raam said, his mouth suddenly becoming dry. Rarely was he ever moved to fear by an opponent, much less an ally; this _Enderborn_, however, was far too unnatural for him to be comfortable with. How his boss had established relations with this monster, he might never know. He didn't want to know.

"Well, Delphos provides you nothing now. The flow of the war has shifted, but our fight here remains crucial. Let us return to the surface," the Enderborn said, already moving to leave the dim chamber behind.

Konstantin Raam had no choice but to follow him. His employer's orders were clear, and he had to work with the Enderborn.

"My forces have been moving south, but I need the city of Milltown out of the way," the Enderborn explained as they returned to the surface, reentering the ashy ruins of old Delphos.

"Why can't you just roll them over?" asked Raam. "They're just a bunch of barbarians, right?"

"They have lightmen," said the Enderborn, visibly frowning. "The one thing they possess that my armies cannot stop."

"So...you want me to lead an offensive, is that right?" Raam asked. Clearly he was wrong, because the Enderborn smiled again.

"No, not at all...you misunderstand me."

"Do enlighten me-"

"There are groups on the other side of the river that sympathize with our mutual cause..._cleansing_," the Enderborn explained. "Elimination of the barbarians, and a return of this province to civilization. I have already been in contact with some, but there are many more who are eagerly waiting for an ally."

"I see."

"Your job is right simple," he continued. "Do what your employers ask, of course, but stirring up unrest on the eastern side of the river is within our interest. You won't even need to ally with the locals, but simply find the allies that are already there. It will be simple."

"Who do you refer to, though?"

"You'll know them when you hear about them. I assure you, they will come to you sooner rather than later," the Enderborn told him, ever so cryptic. "I will be back to check in with you soon. I expect good news."

And then he vanished, disappearing into thin air as he turned on the spot. Konstantin Raam cursed him and spat into the ash. He knew who the bastard was talking about; he knew all too well the heartless men he was referring to.

Snatchers...the flesh trade. This would not be clean work, not at all, and Konstantin Raam felt a little uneasy as he made for his camp, knowing what he now had to do.


	11. B'aileth

B'aileth was a fairly colorful city, in contrast to the dull grays and browns of the cities of Harsten's Keep and Old Marken. Those cities, situated in the quaint, quiet Midlands, were reminiscent of New Connaught in peaceful times. Timber merchants and livestock traders jostled with one another and hawked their goods, and simple men led simple lives amidst a warren of thatch houses and stone apartments. It was nothing compared to this; even Malluthea, with its colorful sailing ships and curious architecture, couldn't quite compare to the myriad of colors that decorated the tropical port.

Roof tiles of dyed clay - red and yellow and purple and green - spanned the horizon, and great spiral buildings rose into the sky and contrasted with intimidating marble villas and imposing mud pyramids. Tall brick insulae dominated the residential areas, while the religious centers of the city featured their odd assortment of spiral minaret-like structures, expansive gardens and lavish ritual plazas. The city was surrounded by lush jungle, awash with a myriad of greenish hues and bursting with avian life. The city itself was constructed in a ring around a great navy blue lagoon, with a single island in the middle upon which had been erected a concentrical temple, built out of stark, lifeless marble and cool, cold granite.

It was perhaps the largest city Leon had ever seen, short of the great metropolii of the NMR, and he was in awe as the fleet approached the city's massive docks, themselves perhaps the size of a small town back in Connaughtsshire.

Ships of all assortments and pursuits were moored at the lengthy brazilwood jetties, unloading a plethora of cargo unto the dockwork slaves. Deep-hulled cogs from Ryiklund, plying their way through the glimmering seas by way of paid oarsmen, brought expensive, richly-trimmed furs and shining jewels from their homeland as swift, wide Archymyiaean dhows pulled into the docks specifically built for their specialized ships. Slender galleys hailing from the shoreside city of Nalus deposited their barrels full of fish and briny salt; the iron-keeled cargo ships of the Copper Bight, hulls packed with expensive metals like copper, tin, bismuth and platinum, were attended by pulley-powered cranes as they offloaded their pallets of ingots. Here could be seen one of the Malluthean galleys with its brightly-tinted sail, delivering rank and file of bound, naked slaves from its dank, smelly hold; there could be seen a massive steel cargo ship from the NMR, with rusting lettering embedded onto the side and deck piled high with imposing steel crates loaded with advanced goods.

"She's a city rotten to the core, but you wouldn't guess it at first glance," Herobrine introduced Leon as he stood, slack-jawed at the fore, gazing in wonder at the expansive city. "Welcome to B'aileth."

"Pictures don't do it justice," muttered Leon. The ship turned sharply to the left and pulled towards one of the jetties, motioned in by dockworkers.

"They do not," said Herobrine. "It always manages to impress me, no matter how many times I've been. Which is...not often."

"It's so colorful. Why is that?"

"People can afford it," Herobrine explained. "Clay is cheap and so is dye. Put one and one together, and you've got a menagerie of hues." The ship came to a soft halt and the gangplank swung down with a dull _thwack_, bestowing them entry into the mesmerizing metropolis.

"All ashore?"

"Gladly," Leon murmured, stepping down onto the main deck. "I need to tour a little."

"Our time is limited, however. I've already paid for my people, and they won't like to be kept waiting," Hero warned him.

"I know, I know. It'll only be an hour or so. I need my fill," said Leon, stepping off the ship and down onto the jetty. It appeared most of the wood in this city was dark, solid brazilwood, harvested from the great jungles around the city.

"Meet me at the Whispering Hearts by noon. I don't want to keep our good lieutenant waiting!" Hero called after him, his shouting partially drowned out by the sounds of industry and the waves crashing upon the rocky coastline.

"A whorehouse? Are you serious?" Leon called back, half joking.

"Mercenary men need their vices fulfilled. I, for one, disapprove, but what can you do?"

"Find better mercenaries?" Leon suggested teasingly.

"I thought you less naive than that, Leon Walker," retorted Herobrine, smiling gaily. "Two hours at most, okay?"

Leon cheerfully acknowledged him and, on his own, departed down the jetty, ignored by the busy dockworkers. He simply had to present his insignia at the customs house and he would be a free man, able to stroll the city streets without issue.

Once through customs, he found himself on a dirty cobblestone street, its cracks filled with mud, sand, gravel and rotting detritus. Iron grates on both sides of the road served as makeshift sidewalks and covered torrents of rushing sewage water, which splashed and rippled in their course as they ran beneath the surface.

People of all convictions poured around him, going about their business. Here, a woman wrapped in a rich jade-green silk wrap, carrying a basket of fresh fish in her arm and heading home for lunch. Somewhere else, a scraggly, scrawny vendor dressed in brown, shitstained rags hawked his wares loudly in a native tongue, exhibiting fish, oysters, local vegetables and mushrooms for sale. Beside him, linen vendors and fur sellers scrambled to find customers for their own merchandise, competing with each other for the best profit.

Tall insulae towered above him as he walked. Made out of tan bricks, the insulae bore colorful roofs and brazilwood balconies, and were thronged with people cooking food, weaving clothing, conversing with each other or taking care of domestic business. Men bearing long sanded planks of brazilwood or baskets of clay, sand or baked tiles wove to and fro within the crowd, making for the workshops and warehouses clustered together like tightly-packed sardines in a can. Dirty children played on the streets, dodging people and horses as they ran and chased each other, and here and there stood guards dressed in short-sleeved and short-legged brown tunics with scale mail and thick copper pot helms, armed with intimidating harpoon spears and round dinnerplate-esque shields.

Leon passed more residential and jostled with the locals, looking rather out of place in his chainmail armor and "_dujeong-gap_" style pauldrons. Most of the women here were either dressed in their silken wraps, full-body wraps that included leggings, or they wore thin leather tabard and long pants. Most men went bare-chested, and wore leather pants, and some wore loose, stringy aprons or thin shirts. The heat was oppressive and Leon found himself sweating buckets, imprisoned within his thick armor. It could save his life in a melee, but it would also be the death of him in an environment as hellish as this.

Perhaps the most intriguing piece of the giant urban jigsaw puzzle of B'aileth was the temple at the center of the city. Built upon a stony rock about the size of two football fields, the marble and granite architecture rested amidst serene cobalt waters, as smooth as glass and barely rippled by the caress of the tropical breeze. It could only be described as Graecian in nature; 48 columns encircled the main structure, which was circumferential in shape, and the tiled roof ended in a soft point at the top where the tiles converged. The interior was, insofar as he knew, a mystery; it was the reason they had been drawn to the southern city, but the archives at the Ditch had told them little about the enigmatic structure. For that, they would need to access the archives in B'aileth, and that might be difficult in itself.

Leon wondered what rested inside that temple and, well-rested after his walk, returned into the city, passing by the workshops that he had seen earlier. Most of them were dedicated to the baking of bricks and chiseling of stone; the brickworks, with their towering mud chimneys belching thick, wafty smoke and ovens birthing long tendrils of flame, were a foreign sight to Leon, who had never seen industry like this. Connaughtsshire was built on stone and timber, not brick and mud; not even Thellden, with its unparalleled access to sticky, muculent clay in the shoreline pits, was fond of baking that clay into bricks. Pottery was the main product there.

The warehouses were full of goods from all over the world, ranging from the median to the exotic. Leon could see giant piles of fresh fish, heaped on the floor, and amongst that he could see bushels of wheat, baskets of sand and gravel, pallets of precious metals and long planks of timber. Amongst these, however, could be found more exotic items; while meandering past the open warehouses, Leon saw gleaming ivory, imposing gold statues, blocks of cement, railroad ties, several elegant musical horns, and what appeared to be parts from a SOCOR-built VTOL gunship, thankfully missing the deadly gauss minigun often mounted on such fearsome machines.

It took him another fifteen minutes to force himself to snap out of his trance and hurriedly make his way to Whispering Hearts. The "pleasure palace", as it was called, was an ornately decorated building, its facade festooned with elegant carvings of sexual intimacy and exhibitions of the great men of the city. As with most important buildings B'aileth, this pleasure palace appeared to take a page out of the great book of Dorian architecture, and the columns rose forty feet above Leon as he entered, feeling his cheeks flush red as he realized what he was stepping into.

"I haven't been waiting long," teased Herobrine, sitting idly at the entry desk. A few guards, bedecked in their scale mail, stood inside the main door to keep stragglers and beggars out. The front deskman, a portly little man, looked up at Leon with alarm but relaxed once he saw the insignia and rich trim on Leon's tabard. A nobleman was always welcome in any establishment, so long as he bore his estate proudly.

"Did I take that much time?" Leon asked, brushing a bit of brick dust off of his pant leggings.

"Oh, you're a little late, but I'll manage. I found our guy," Herobrine said, walking back into the palace.

"Where?"

"He's...taking care of his vices," said Herobrine. "But once we remind him of the color of gold he'll snap to. He's a true mercenary."

"Oh, this should be fun." Leon rolled his eyes at the image he was conjuring. Whoever this mercenary was, he was clearly a man of decent means who had plenty of experience. Which was good; if he had the time and money to wallow in prostitution, it was likely he had made a name for himself on the battlefield, and could be relied upon.

"Do you remember the last time dealing with mercenaries, Leon?" Herobrine queried, parting long strings of beads that acted as a visual barricade.

"Can't say I do. How long ago was that?" Leon asked, wishing for a good memory jogging.

"Putting down a minor insurrection. You hired some spearmen to do a dirty job for you. Let me just warn you, these men and women are a more colorful bunch. They are _different_," Herobrine cautioned him, parting another set of beads. The air smelled of incense and olive oil, and it was almost sickeningly sweet, very overwhelming.

"Women too, eh? That's not unusual, not in the least bit," Leon quipped. Not everyday did women appear in a mercenary company; that was a rare sight to witness.

"Some. This company requires all skill sets. They take on odd jobs, but the most dangerous of odd jobs," Herobrine explained.

"Is that why they took us up on our offer, then?"

"Well, I should think so," Herobrine said. "We don't know what's inside that temple, and they don't either. But they took it...or, he took it." They had reached another set of beads obscuring their passage, but Leon could see people inside.

"Our lieutenant?"

"Aye, he's here. I will introduce you to Lieutenant Saif Bitawwi, and you can, ah, talk amongst yourselves," Herobrine chuckled, parting the last set of stringed beads.

Saif Bitawwi was a rather rugged-looking and intimidating man, an image that was assisted by the fact that he was completely naked. Reclining on a plush couch, flanked by two equally nude women with skin as black as charcoal, he looked like a king in his own little paradise, surrounded by lavish decorations and incense burners giving off a strong scent.

"Lord Walker?" he inquired cheerily, his Arabic accent strong. "I presume, yes?"

"That would be me," said Leon, grimacing at the scene before him. "Is this how you meet all of your employers?"

"I am in B'aileth. Why would I not enjoy the local flavor?" the lieutenant asked innocently, his fingers idly caressing one of his attendants.

"I don't deny you that, I suppose," Leon admitted begrudgingly. "May they be dismissed, though?"

"Yes, yes, that I can do," he conceded, rising from his couch. "We'll play later. Run along, loves!" He slapped one of them playfully on the butt and sent them off into a side room. There was an awkward silence following that, complicated by Herobrine standing uncomfortably at the door, the inability of Leon to come up with anything to say, and Saif Bitawwi's throbbing, erect penis. It took a moment for someone to speak.

"I have been told you have a reputation," said Leon, shattering the silence. Saif had been opening a vintner of some brownish alcoholic liquid, presumably a type of brandy or mixed wine.

"Down here, yes. It is unlikely that anyone has heard of my company up in your world," Saif said.

"Well, I had heard about it," Leon corrected him, lying. "Your reputation has started to precede you."

"I'm flattered, Lord Walker." Saif poured himself a vial of the brown liquid. "And your gold flatters me even more. Shall we discuss prices?"

"I thought we already did that."

"It was simply a token gesture. More will need to be paid, given the job that you are asking of me...which is _hardly _an ordinary one," Saif reminded him pleasantly.

"That's why I hired you," Leon said. "I've been told that your company exceeds at everything, and fails at nothing."

"I like the advertisement," Saif commented, smiling gleefully. "And I think you would be right. But the price is steep."

"Name it," called Herobrine from behind the beads. He remained there, letting Leon do most of the negotiation.

"I will need ten thousand gold pieces now, and another ten thousand when we are done. That will add onto the three thousand we have already agreed upon," Saif decided, after pondering the possibilities for a moment.

"Can I convince you to haggle?"

"It's that, or bust. I am an impatient man, Lord Walker. What is your-"

"It will be done," Leon decided.

"Can you even pay for that?"

"Do you doubt a nobleman?" asked Leon, noticing that Saif winced visibly when he realized what he had said. He hung his head a little.

"I do not, no. I take your word for truth," Saif admitted.

"You will have your money, that I promise."

"And you will have your company," Saif pledged. "I promise you will be pleased with the results."

"I would like details, if you could. Do you have...a roll for the company?"

"I will provide, when I am more clothed and more...ah, _prepared _for business," Saif promised.

"I expect you to seal the paperwork however. Right now," demanded Leon. Surprisingly, Saif did not argue; even in his state of nudity, he was willing to sign his name and seal the contract, and Leon handed over the money that Herobrine had brought. The small purse clinked and shifted as it passed from one owner to another, and Saif's eyes lit up when he opened it to see the treasure within.

"Are we all set, then?" Leon asked, pocketing his end of the contract.

"Find your way to my camp tomorrow, and I will provide you with information, rolls, and whatever else you might need," Saif informed him. "You need not ask where it is, for you will not have a hard time finding it." He reclined on his couch again after the business work was completed.

"Outside the city, presumably?"

"The largest you will find," said Said. "There are several camps, but only one is mine, and I have the feeling you'll know which is which."

Leon did not want to try to play a guessing game, but he did not say anything else. Saif Bitawwi, for being a regionally famous mercenary captain, had not made a good impression. He left with a knot in his stomach, and a lot of thoughts racing in his head.

"I don't trust him. Who the hell is he?" asked Leon when they left Whispering Hearts, descending the granite steps down onto the dirty boulevard.

"I was referred to him by a contact I have down here. Apparently, despite being a partier and womanizer, he's quite the competent commander and has fought an incredible amount of engagements in his time," Herobrine tried to assuage Leon's fears.

"He left a pretty poor impression on me, for sure," Leon admitted defeatedly.

"First impressions are always important, I agree," said Hero.

"Do you think I'm making the right decision here?"

"I believe so. I trust my referee, and I trust Lieutenant Bitawwi. Return to him tomorrow, and he may present a far different facade," Hero suggested.

"Why did he have us meet him here, though? Why not arrange for it to be in his camp? That was a stupid move, and is what made the poor impression," Leon judged.

"I cannot answer for that. Perhaps he was flaunting his wealth? That palace is...expensive, to say the least," Hero said.

"There are better ways to flaunt. But I will return to him tomorrow, and try again," Leon promised.

"I think you will come to appreciate him. His company has some specialists that you may find...useful." What Hero was insinuating, Leon supposed he would find out. He wasn't anticipating an impressive surprise, not after today's encounter.

"What do you think is inside it?"

"Inside? Oh-" Leon paused, realizing what Hero was looking at. Eyes fixated on some initially indeterminable object over Leon's shoulder, he was almost weirdly entranced by it. Leon knew what he was looking at, given their vantage point as they climbed up a flight of stairs to an elevated plaza.

"Do you think it's there?" Hero asked.

"Anything could be in there, honestly. The books in the Vault were insufficient, and the poor Archlibrarian was at a loss when I asked him," Leon mused, returning to his last time at the Ditch, nearly a month ago.

"It looks so serene," Hero observed, leaning on a balustrade as he looked out over the tranquil facade of the lagoon. "Even I do not know what lies within the temple. My brother created it, but he never told me."

"He never told you a lot of things. I see a pattern there."

"Yes, that was his personality," Hero replied, his tone a little icy. It was always like that when the topic turned to his brother.

"Unfortunately," Leon said.

"But I suppose we'll find out soon, eh?"

"Next weekend, you wanted to do it?" Leon inquired.

"It gives us time to prepare. Time to arm, time to learn, and think about what we might run into down there. Or _who_ we might run into."

"You're giving me reasons not to go, you know that right?" said Leon.

"Now, now, what's the worst that could be down there? Not some horrifying revelation, right?" Hero smirked. "Eh?"

"Fuck off," Leon retorted.

Both were joking, but it was clear that neither of them _really _knew what was inside that island temple. They could only grasp at straws, and pray that they were right. The temple remained serene, and eerily quiet, as night fell.

VVVVV

Matt had his enemies, or at least felt like it. At the least, he was beset by troubles on both sides.

Avery Steadwin remained cold and disrespectful, to the point where Matt had thrown him out of the room when they were discussing quartermastery. It had been a simple conversation about resource requisition and rationing, but Avery had been stubborn and impolite and Matt was fed up. He regretted his decision now, after discussing the issue with the sergeant, and wondered if Avery had taken it personally. That was likely; Avery, at his age and stage of adolescence, seemed to take everything personally. Stalking around the keep campus, he looked more like a pouty teenager than any sort of nobleman even despite his fine clothing.

Delwin Saythe, on the other hand, presented a far different problem. The issue reached Matt's ears that evening as he was waiting for dinner, being prepared by the keep's cook. The dining hall was relatively peaceful until its aura was shattered by a rapping on the door, which announced the sergeant's entry. He looked rather bemused and disgruntled, and whispered into Matt's ear as he relayed the trouble.

"Are you serious? What does he want?"

"You, clearly," he said. "Apparently I wouldn't suffice. He demanded to speak to you, and he isn't eager to stand outside in the chill for long."

"Let him in, but I'll meet him in the foyer only," Matt decided, grumbling unhappily. His meal was only minutes away, and yet here came trouble marching up to his doorstep.

Sora looked positively confused, but remained seated as Matt left, deciding not to partake in more trouble than she had to. Matt figured she was having issues with Lana Valdez, despite her insistence that nothing in that arena was wrong. The two appeared to be at odds, and had some sort of strange magnetic repulsion Matt did not understand. He chalked it up to a minor domestic dispute that was hardly in his realm of affairs, and thus would not be of trouble to him unless it began to affect Sora's personal life.

He let Stellmeier lead him into the foyer, and waited there while the sergeant exited and headed out into the deserted keepyard. He didn't take long, for only two minutes later Stellmeier reappeared, with the contentious figure in tow. Jonathan James Coggins, his face decorated with a kindly smile, was hardly the guest he had desired, but definitely the one he had been expecting. If anybody were to have problems with Delwin Saythe and his little cult, it would be the Mormon preacher.

"I beg your pardon, my lord, for the intrusion at such an hour," Coggins apologized, bowing deeply and removing his quaint felt cap as an expression of politeness.

"No problem at all," Matt lied, admitting him. "The dining hall is, unfortunately, in use, so we will have to seek out other quarters."

"There are empty rooms. Follow me, if you will," Stellmeier requested, bringing the heavy door closed as Coggins stepped over the threshold.

"Of course, my lords. Thank you for mercifully letting me in - for, by the Lord's wrath, it is bitter outside!"

Matt was hardly anti-theist, but both Coggins and Saythe would become thorns in his side, he knew. He wondered how Lord Steadwin had dealt with such ilk, or if he had dealt with it at all. Saythe by himself might have been manageable; a stern word, a few slaps on the wrist, and he would be in his place. But with Coggins in town, there was bound to be friction between their respective followers, and that was what bothered Matt almost as much as the Castiron problem, or the nameless newcomer.

Stellmeier led them to a small sitting room down the hall, one which was in disrepair but still usable. There were only two seats, so the sergeant respectfully showed himself out and shut the door behind him, leaving the two behind and leaving the Coggins problem for Matt to deal with.

"God bless you, my lord, for seeing me tonight. I understand you are quite a busy man-"

"Very much so. Might I ask what brings you to me?"

"Of course, of course, right to the meat of the matter," Coggins chimed. "This is about Delwin Saythe, as you may have suspected."

"I am aware. Continue."

"Well, with no offense to Mr. Saythe, bless his character and charisma...I feel threatened by him, my lord, and I suppose you can see why. Given his..._congregation_...and its notable size, which is quite surprising, I feel like my position is untenable!" Coggins declared, making himself comfortable in his seat. Despite his claims, he did not sound the least bit concerned; his demeanor remained pleasant, and he even smiled after finishing his sentence. Matt felt like that would change if he did not get his way.  
"And what position would that be?" asked Matt, poking further into the issue just to please the pastor.

"I have my own congregation, my lord, but it is small and frail and can be easily usurped. I feel that that is what Mr. Saythe is trying to do," Coggins theorized.

"You think he's actively out to get you?" Matt asked.

"Perhaps so, perhaps not so, but I fear that may be the case."

"That does not seem to fit with his personality, Mr. Coggins," Matt argued.

"No, not _his _specifically. But his congregation's, yes," Coggins corrected, expanding his problem to wider and far more vague terms.

"You're saying you feel threatened not by him, but by his followers?"

"_And _the way they're influenced by his teachings," Coggins added. "You know he may be a decent man, and he has an air of charm about him."

"I will agree to that," Matt admitted. For all the dark and morbid nature of his cult, Delwin Saythe was a man of cheerful disposition.

"However, his teachings...and preachings...they are dark, and full of terrors, my lord! Have you read his scripts, or listened to his travesty of a sermon? Reviled in the face of anything good and alive, my lord!" Coggins complained, spitting to punctuate his accusations.

"That is your opinion," said Matt. "However, he has the freedom to preach what he desires."

"I do not want to contest that, but many of his subjects are taking the dark words to heart. They do not comprehend the truth of what he says, and it moves them to foul deeds," Coggins claimed.

Matt grew weary of this circus act. He wanted supper, not a sermon. "I have not heard anything of these deeds."

"It _will _move them to deeds, I promise you! I know that aggressive speech like that will cause nothing but trouble."

"What would you have me do, then?" Matt wondered, feeling more frustrated with every passing second.

"Censure him, at the very least. I understand freedom of religion and I do not wish to smother Mr. Saythe's beliefs, but his followers must be constrained," Coggins suggested.

"You fear for the safety of your followers?"

"My congregation, my faith, and myself, my lord," said Coggins. "God watches over me but he cannot stymie every enemy of the flock. Wolves will rarely make off with the sheep, and as the shepherd I must do what I can to prevent that."

"If there are threats made against you, I will see they are dealt with in a correct fashion. But until then, there is not much I can do," Matt acquiesced.

"What do you mean? You are the liege of this town, you can do whatever you please!"

"Yes, whatever I please. Not whatever you please. I do not see Saythe as a threat," Matt retorted. Coggins did not take pleasantly to this; his mouth twisted in a bit of a snarl, but he corrected that almost immediately, controlling himself.

"I promise you, my lord, he is."

"Once I see it, I will believe it. I will talk to him and ask him to ensure his followers remain peaceful, but even though his message may be inherently violent, I will not shut him down."

"I believe you are not taking enough action." Coggins shook his head. It was clear though that Matt would not be moved. The pastor had given up, at least for now.

"And I believe that I am. If you have nothing else to ask of me, our conversation is finished," Matt decided. He knew Coggins was stewing underneath his relatively calm facade. He could see fire in those eyes.

"I do not. I appreciate that you should hear me out, my lord. God bless you and your wife," Coggins said, rising and replacing his hat. It was clear he was unhappy with the termination of the conversation, but there was nothing he could really do. He departed with a cheery farewell, leaving Matt hungry and displeased as he left.

"A real fuckboy," Matt swore when he sat back down at the dinner table. It was entirely possible Coggins was just screwing with him and jousting for attention. How bad could Saythe _really _be? He seemed pretty harmless.

"Oh, come now. He can't be that much of a nuisance," said Sora.

"I wouldn't even call him a nuisance," Matt grumbled, spooning hot pork stew into his mouth. "He's like...that fly you can never kill, that just buzzes around and smacks itself into the window a dozen times a minute."

"At least he's gone for tonight!"

"I have the feeling he'll be back," said Matt.

"What happened with Avery today?" Sora asked, breaking her loaf of bread. Pork stew, cooked carrots and bread was all they had for a meal, but it was better than what the peasants generally ate. Cooked cabbage, potatoes and cold radishes could hardly be fulfilling or tasty.

"Not much," Matt replied. "He...he was being a little prick."

"So?"

"So I had him thrown out of our meeting. He took it personally, of course-"

"Matt, you have to be a little easier on him," Sora sighed, rolling her eyes visibly.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, very!" she said. "He's just a kid. He's fifteen, and wants to be an adult, but he's still a kid. You have to realize that, and cut him some slack. He'll grow out of it."

"You really do sound like a parent," he chuckled.

"Maybe it's just instinct. But perhaps you can be a little nicer to him? Maybe concede something to him, just to let him know you don't hate his guts?"

"Perhaps," Matt acquiesced. "If you really think so-"

"Yes, I do! And I want you to try it," she said.

There really was no reason not to; although Avery could be a little prick, like he said, there was something redeemable about him, perhaps. If Sora thought it was worth a shot, Matt was going to have to take it; he trusted her enough for that. And, well, what was the worst that could possibly happen?

He approached Avery after dinner, before bed. Coggins never came crying back, thankfully, so the business of the day was complete. He found Avery Steadwin in the planning room, looking over the maps again with interest. His gaze visibly narrowed when he saw Matt enter, and he greeted him with the coldest greeting possible.

"Yes, Lord?"

"I wanted to talk to you about today," Matt began.

"Well, I'm _very _sorry," Avery apologized sternly.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have overreacted like that. It was...unnecessary."

That startled him. He looked taken aback, and struggled to find his words. When he found them, his surprise was evident.

"You...oh. Okay-"

"And I think I haven't vested enough interest in you. That should change," Matt said, wondering if this was going to work out.

"My Lord?" asked Avery, looking like an overeager puppy now that he realized what was happening.

"I want you to take command over Skagway and Roanshire. The village quartermasters will, on my orders, take command from you tomorrow. I will see to it that their people are in your hands. Can I trust you?"

Avery Steadwin's eyes widened and he sat there, stock still, for a few moments, as if he could hardly believe this. Here, _here _was a true gift, that had just been handed to him on a whim. Matt wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do, but Sora's words echoed in his head, and he knew he had to put _something _into Avery if he wanted to get something back out. This was what he was putting in, and he prayed that something good would come out.

"I...I accept, my lord-"

"Then their fate is yours. I trust you to be responsible and report anything of importance to me?"

"Of...of course-"

Avery's mouth was dry and he licked his lips as Matt left. No paperwork to sign, nothing to hand over. The villages would simply report to him now, and he would have command and liege-ship over them. But it was a substantial handover, and Matt left him knowing Sora would be proud about this.

Most of the evening was uneventful after that. Matt took care of undressing and setting out orders for breakfast, and sat down in bed to relax and get a good night's sleep. Within the week, hopefully, the Thellden stranger would be recovered and able to be interrogated. Matt had wanted to do it sooner, but Brudina had refused; the wounded man needed more time, and needed to be in full health. For now, there was an official guard on his door, and the outside window was locked and shuttered to prevent escape.

Something felt wrong, though, as he was lying down in bed. Sora, for some reason, was late, perhaps engaged with one of the servants or the domestic scoundrel, Lana Valdez (Matt had an inkling of the troubles besetting both of them, but he was not prone to focus upon either). Nevertheless, she was missing and, all but two torches extinguished, he felt a darkness falling upon him that almost forced him to sink under the covers, like a frightened child hiding from a formless boogeyman. Something was wrong, and he had to force himself to stay awake a bit longer just to wait for his significant other to arrive and dispel the darkness. She did not come, and Matt sank into sleep. And, as his world turned black, he was met by a brilliant flash, a fierce wave of heat, and a transmission to another form, perhaps another soul.

He was somewhere else, _clearly _not his bedroom or the comfortable, albeit alien surroundings of Stallhart. This place, comparatively, was the most alien thing he had ever seen. A great sea of lava, bubbling and roiling and exploding with energy, stretched to the horizon, splashing violently up onto a beach of gravel and ruddy, crimson dirt. A red, menacing mist obscured the sky, and primitive, savage-looking bipedal porcines wearing rudimental armor and bearing jagged, nasty-looking weaponry surrounded Matt, wherever he was. Their flesh rotted, sloughing off their bones in an agonizing manner, and they bared their teeth in the style of wolves circumambulating wounded prey. Matt stood in the center of them, helplessly looking on as the figure he resided within placed his hands on squishy, twisted-looking brown sand and spoke some sort of incantation, a language horrifyingly unfamiliar to him and beyond explanation.

Something rose out of the sand, as its surface began shifting and reforming and collapsing into itself. A human form, but without true life, stumbled out of the quagmire and rose, empty eyes looking to the sky and mouth agape in a silent howl. Whoever Matt was put his hands upon the creature and dragged it further out, setting it upright. To Matt's horror, more began to rise and, stepping away from his creations, the nameless necromancer set upon the sand again, reciting the same incantations and producing the same unholy results from each patch of devilish material.

Matt remained for about twenty minutes, forcing himself to watch the ritual complete itself again and again. By the time he was finished, the revenants had been herded into a group, dead eyes fixated on their creator, and they silently watched, jaws slack, as he raised his arms to them and boomed in a harsh, yet all-too-human voice. Speaking in a tongue Matt could not process, he turned them around and set them marching off on a flat plain marked by geysers of fire and smoky, wasted expanses of lifeless dirt.

Twenty minutes was all he could handle. He forced himself out, consumed by darkness again and then returned to the comfort of Stallhart and the image of Sora sitting over him, her eyes wide with fright.

"Matt, what the hell!?" she screamed, grabbing the lapels of his nightshirt and shaking him.

"What?"

"You wouldn't wake up, and I thought you were going to roll right out of bed! A bad dream again?" she asked, sitting back. She looked very upset.

"Y-yeah...I suppose."  
He realized then that he was soaked in sweat and had thrown the once orderly covers into a complete state of disorder, the bedsheets now disheveled and ruined.

"What were you dreaming about!?" she asked.

"I don't remember, it was just...very _vivid_…"

"This is like the third time you've done something like this. It's never happened before, never! Can you think of any reason, _any_, that might be causing this?"

"I...no," he said after pausing for a bit.

Sora frowned but said nothing to this. It was clear that she was confused too and at a loss for a solution. She sat back and tried to fix the covers, doing a lackadaisical job.

"Well, let's try and get some sleep now, okay?" she suggested, laying down beside him after extinguishing the last torch on the wall.

"I need something to drink-"

"No, no you don't!" she insisted. Now in pitch blackness, he could see nothing, and it would be difficult to get to the door without running into _something_.

"Just a little bit? It will help," he promised.

"No, Matt. Just no. That won't do anything for you. Lie down and I'll be here beside you, please." She was not going to take any argument, and he did as bid. Covered in sweat and exposed to the chill atmosphere, he was becoming cold and needed to cover up, anyway. The darkness he had felt receded from him, though; peace and tranquility had returned in a new form of darkness, something more natural that filled the void left when the last lights had been extinguished.

He fell asleep without saying goodnight to Sora. He just didn't have the energy to, for suddenly he felt drained and just lifeless. He closed his eyes and mere minutes after fell into a deep sleep, remaining in his own head this time.

VVVVV

The assembly today was smaller than normal, consisting only of the richer men of the town and those possessing a firmer legacy. The news had not been broken to the public yet, but Shandra was trying her best to keep it confined to this tight circle of trusted noblemen. Nobody needed to know about the fractures within the royal family, lest it be used for treasonous purposes. Who knew how many blades Simeon had hidden within the public at large, and how many instigators he had paid to stir up trouble the moment the opportunity presented itself? She couldn't take any risk associated with that.

"I am the High Lord of the city!" claimed Keldon, for what seemed like the hundredth time. "I am not subject to anyone else's authority, except my own!"

"You say that to your own _mother_," Shandra reminded him sternly.

"You're just my mother, not my queen. Your hand in the city's politics is fading away," Keldon snarled, turning his back to her. Childish of him, but it made her more angry.

"How dare you!?" she shrilled, furious. "My hand may be fading, but at least it is clean! I was not the one who sent forty brave knights of this city to their _death_."

She was not about to come out and say it was really _her _doing. She had sent Ablyn Cullen on his mission, she had given him extra men in case he needed a melee force. To be fair, Keldon was the one who had originally established the rendezvous between a force of emissaries and the Xonos Mallistron. However, Shandra had a hand in the massacre as well, by pulling strings and replacing certain untrustworthy figures with ones who answered to Cullen and, thusly, answered to her. No matter who was at fault, it was clear that the Xonos Mallistron was uninterested in diplomatic relations with Thellden - if it _really _had been his action. Unlikely as it may be, it was possible that thieves or brigands had ambushed and slaughtered the party.

"I did not send them to their death! I sent them with good intentions, did I not?" Keldon defended himself hastily.

"I do not see the difference," she retorted. "The consequence of this has been bloodshed, no matter your intentions."

"You just want me to take the blame for this, don't you!?"

"I want you take responsibility," she suggested, betraying no hint of fear or anger now. She had to retain a tranquil facade for all to see and remember, now that Keldon was angry. "As you _ought _to. As your father would have."

Would he? Arstas Thell, take responsibility for his actions? That was actually a joke, and people would have laughed if they wouldn't have been imprisoned later for doing so.

"My father...do not speak ill of my father-"

"I hardly speak ill," she said. "I only refer to him." For a moment, Shandra felt a sharp fear, and realized Keldon could very well spill her secret to the entire assembly. Arstas' death was a secret, and _he _knew, only because he had been the one who committed the act. But he could easily pin it on Shandra, and the men below would be forced to believe him only because he possessed the title of _High Lord_. She wouldn't be able to argue her way out of that, not without more backup.

"I would not have his name on your tongue. You will use it to mock me," he sneered, foregoing any mention of their dirty deeds at the feast. "This was, as I have been trying to say, an accident! As High Lord, I made a decision that I thought was right, and would have been right. The treachery of the Xonos is at fault for this, and by extension the treachery of all of Ais Kleisardathos!"

Rally the people against a common foe - that was a wise choice. Shandra knew the tide would turn against her. He was the High Lord, and she was, really, just his mother. She could operate behind the scenes with the agility and guile of a hawk, but when it came to the assembly there was only so much she could do without outright denouncing him.

"I agree with our High Lord," Jonathan Sardisson, ever the loyal vizier, said. "The enemy is at fault for this, no Thell. They have betrayed their words and have soaked the earth with the blood of good, honest men."

"Aye, and we ought to repay them in kind," agreed Keldon. "I, for one, support more aggressive action!"

"And what will you do?" Shandra contested. "Our army marches north, on _your _orders, I might remind you. Who will you dispatch to fight them? The postal workers? An army of butchers?"

"You know _nothing_ of war, mother," Keldon hissed, turning to face her. "You think you do, and you try to throw out advice, but it is worth little!"

She would not respond to that. She remained silent, visage hard as marble, looking Keldon straight in his fiery, furious eyes. He took that as a challenge and continued.

"You've never even wielded a sword, mother, not for training or combat! _I _have done both, especially when I protected this city against the traitors wishing to undermine us. What do you know of war? What do you know of fighting? You let our enemies slip right past us, and cannot even tell who _is _the enemy any longer!"

She knew enough to know he would condemn the city to death if he drew the ire of the Xonos. Even if it was just Mallistron, the outcast, his army was nearly twice the size of Thellden's and was a veritable war machine. It was the one thing she feared, besides being exposed to the world and being dumped from power.

"I was the one who dispatched Lord North, not you. I was the one who tackled our enemies on all fronts, while you sat back and watched!"

He was like a bull, turning his fury upon her. She wanted to retort but it would not end well, she knew. The assembly watched with awe, wondering how it would end.

"I know of war, and you are content to sit here on your ass all day and deal with _womanly _things. You should leave the _manly _things to the men, lest you bring ruin upon us all," continued Keldon. "There is naught you can say, mother. This council will debate-"

"There is something I can say. I will say that you would lead us to our ruin, you _fool_," Shandra seethed, unable to bear it any longer.

"I? You question me!? You, who said nothing when I made these 'mistakes', will question me now!?"

"You would tackle the Xonos Mallistron?" asked Shandra, the idea ludicrous to her.

"And you _wouldn't_!?" he returned, spittle flecking his inflamed lips. "Do you value this city, mother? Or have you forgotten that you're a _Thell_?"

"I would _never_," she said, aghast at the possibility. "But I would not bring death upon me if I could avoid it."

"I would agree with her sentiments, begging your pardon, m'lord-"

"Speaking out of turn!?" Keldon roared, turning to the newcomer.

"He is _not_," Shandra growled, so menacing even Keldon did not contest her. "Sir Stephan, _speak_."

The knight, finding himself in the middle of a mudslinging duel between two giants, looked positively terrified but rose and gave his testimony anyway.

"The Xonos Mallistron, as we know, is not to be trifled with. Clearly he is not interested in diplomacy with us, given the...ah, _slaughter_...but he has not made for Thellden, so he has no interest in fighting us. So why would he bring him to us?"

"A preemptive attack, Sir Stephan," Keldon explained, with some patience. "It would eliminate a foe before they can strike at us, and even the general playing field."

"If you think you can defeat the Xonos Mallistron, you are welcome to try," Shandra snorted, bringing Keldon back to her.

"You think I _can't_!?"

"Who has?" she asked.

No one, of course, not yet. That was what made him _truly _mad, and he turned his anger even on Sir Stephan, who had only raised a legitimate point and a fair question.

"Conspirators, you are! I know you, dark hearts! Why else would you turn against me!?" he shouted, pointing fingers at them. "And you, knight! You stand by her!?"

"I only do what I think is right," he defended himself, stepping back as Keldon stared him down.

"You both, conspirators!" he shouted, clenching his fists in rage. "This assembly is dismissed! I will have no more, and if there will be more there will be punishment meted out! I promise it!"

Shandra was quick to get out of the room and drag Sir Stephan back with her, as Sardisson tried to calm Keldon. The man was a little shit, that much was true, and Shandra detested him thoroughly. She had to react to this, and quickly.

"You must control him!" Stephan hissed, whispering to prevent any eavesdroppers from picking up on them. The fleur-de-lis pendant he wore clinked on his armor as he ran to keep up with her, her pace fast.

"It's gone beyond that. He's taken too much power, and he thirsts for even more. I have to prune him back, by force. I should've been proactive earlier, but I didn't think he would be this back," said Shandra, rushing him back to one of their conference chambers in the keep.

"Well, it's too late for that-"

"I don't have regrets, but I have plans. I will have him removed from power, if I must," Shandra confided in him.

"That's...my lady, that's…"

"I know what it sounds like, but look at him! He will be our destruction, not our salvation," Shandra claimed. "He needs to be pruned. His advisors and vizier, too, they're dangerous men."

"What are you thinking?" asked the knight.

"I'm going to cause a scene at the festival. You know that's a big event, right?"

"Of course, we've been working on it-"

"That's why I've been promoting Edgar Branch. Poor, poor, Edgar Branch...he won't have long for this world," she cooed.

"You're _killing _him?"

"Well, yes," she said, as if it were obvious. "What else would I do?"

"I don't follow," he admitted, looking shaken.

"Of course you don't. It's a grand plan, a _masterpiece_, Sir Stephan! The festival will go as planned initially...celebration, frivolity, everything the average citizen wants in a time of war. Mr. Branch, of course, will be promoted heavily, his name plastered all over the festival. People will know him," Shandra explained, with as much detail as he needed to know.

"Okay, _now _I follow," he said.

"And on the last day, well, he'll take the stage to receive congratulations from his fellows. And that...that is why I need an assassin. And a crossbow."

"I...you...you want me to procure a man or woman to do this?" asked Sir Stephan tentatively, growing paler by the second.

"Oh, very clever Sir Stephan!" she said, grinning. "I'm glad you thought that way. I would be delighted if you did."

"I will do what I can," he promised glumly.

"And after Branch is dead, I will be sure to prevent panic _and _prevent Keldon from taking advantage of the situation. I declare martial law, order is restored, and _I _have the power then. Keldon will not succeed."

Sir Stephan looked positively aghast at this plan, but he remained silent and bowed as he was dismissed from her service. She felt like everything would fall into place if she played her cards right; so far, prospects seemed dim, but a well-placed crossbow bolt in an unfortunate financier would be all she needed to turn the tables around. She just needed to seize her chance. Carpe momentum.


	12. Unlocked

Thellden had been dealt with severely enough. They would not pursue him, and he was free to march on. He had been hoping to catch some noble lord or important knight in his trap, but unfortunately the turn of events had conspired against him and he was left with naught but dead bodies. The corpses had been disposed of long ago, and a four day march had brought Mallistron and his formidable army to Pit Watch, a great gully in the middle of the forests to the south of the Green Rush. It was in this little bowl-shaped valley, divided in two by a steep ridge, that Mallistron encamped his forces, fearing little.

The great brigades divided into their tents and sat down for supper, cooking bacon over the fire and breaking bread together as the fortifications were established. Mallistron, sensing the possibility of disturbance, placed some of his crack troops upon the ridge as sentries, to protect the men down in the valleys. He had been faced with a hard choice when decamping - either spread his men out within the forest, which was risky as always, or deploy them in the valley, which gave a potential enemy the high ground but allowed his phalanxes to maintain organization and cohesion. He chose the latter, and ensured that the divisive ridge was well-guarded.

The area they were decamping in was not properly mapped out; the road, which passed the watchtower aptly named Pit Watch, was two miles to the north, and the forest around it had not been subject to cartographic travail. Therefore, the officers around him were quite nervous about their position, and opted to post extra guards for each division of the phalanx, in order to prevent any sort of enemy intrusion. The Xonos himself was a little nervous about their situation, but believed he had made the right choice. Who had bested him so far? No army had defeated him in combat, and he had cut a swath of destruction and terror across the entire province mostly unopposed. He was in a secure position and he intended to, within the next few days, bring his might before the impostor Xonos and force him to a compromise.

He retired to his tent in rather good spirits that night, with the cheerful campfires of the army divisions burning around him and the sentry's watchfires illuminating the cliffs of the gully. With luck, they would survive the night without issue, and would be able to march swiftly and meet the opposing Kleisardathan force on the Xonos' terms. With luck, of course. That luck, as it turned out, would not pan out.

He awoke, to his irritation, to the sound of fighting up above him. It was on the ridge, judging by the triangulation of the noise, and he presumed it must have come under attack by bandits. A foolish move by any, even the strongest army on the continent, but local bandits? That was beyond stupid...almost improbable. They wouldn't be attacking a Kleisardathan army, not one this large, so who could it be? Suddenly the Xonos felt fear coursing through his veins, and wondered who the hell would be bold enough - or stupid - to launch a head-on assault on his forces.

The fighting stopped rather quickly, though, and as the Xonos was dressing into armor he was met with the strangest silence. There was talk around him, worried voices, but he could hear no more melee. Had it been just a brief skirmish with rogues? What had happened?

What he saw when stepping out of his tent was his worst fear realized. All around the gully he could see torches, borne by an entire army of men looking down upon his troops. Up on the ridge, too, he could see them, separating his forces and dividing them in two, and his veteran warriors were nowhere in sight, replaced instead by other men.

"General, they're Kleisardathans," one of his officers reported breathlessly. "They refused to fire on us, but they drove our ridge sentries down and they've taken the high ground."

"The impostor?"

"None other. He is here," the officer said. Mallistron's blood ran cold as he realized the predicament he had waltzed into. His hubris shattered, his confidence melted, he knew now that his imposter had the advantage here, and trying to take the situation directly would result in a slaughter. He had to think this through, but he didn't have time to think.

"Where is he, then!?" Mallistron demanded, tightening the straps of his cuirass.

"He demands to see you immediately, at the center of the ridge. He will not have bloodshed, unless you will."

Those were serious words, and needed serious consideration. Mallistron, working off the veil of sleep, mounted a horse and followed by several courtiers and officers made his way to the ridge, his troops gathered and huddled in small companies waiting for something to happen. He was praying that no fighting broke out without his command; the army was divided in half, and if some enterprising commander on the other side of the gully should consider a sneak attack, it would be a bad decision for everyone involved.

A small party of the opposition, watched over by archers upon the ridge, was already descending into camp. Mallistron knew who they were, knew what they were; they were his enemy, but he would have to meet them on their terms now. They held the advantage, and he would have to barter with them if he wanted to escape this predicament.

"They call me the 'Xonos Quieros'," the man at the head of the enemy column introduced himself, recognizing Mallistron. "True Xonos, is what they say. And you, what are you?"

"A better man than you may ever be," Mallistron spat, insulted. "Why do you come like this? Why do we trade words, and not spear points?"

"Because our Archon is smarter than that, and knows your weaknesses. Believe me, we have been working on this together," the Xonos Quieros said, dismounting and removing his plumed helmet. He was a younger man, unscarred by war and rather comely, and rather the opposite of Mallistron, who was the bitter veteran here. His true title was the Xonos Aleithes, but he seemed to prefer his other title, that of the "True Xonos". It gave him superiority to his traitorous opponent.

"I fucked up," Mallistron admitted, spitting on the ground at the Queiros' feet. His men looked alarmed, but the Xonos Aleithes did not flinch.

"You have indeed," he agreed. "Strategic error, and unexpected from a man like you. And if you want to fight your way out of this bowl, you may be my guest. You might even kill me, if you're lucky. But you aren't going to do that, are you?"

Mallistron kept his visage rock solid, giving no ground to this imposter.

"Are you?"

"It would mean the death of my entire army," Mallistron conceded, knowing full well that was the truth.

"Ah, so it would be," Aleithes mused, grinning viciously. "I'm afraid we'll have to work something else out, if you value the lives of your men."

"You're a sick human being," Mallistron spat. "I detest you." He recognized the irony of that statement.

"And you aren't? Let's not pretend here, my friend, that we are decent men. We are murderers, through and through, and we will talk like ones," the Xonos Aleithes retorted.

"I want you to guarantee the safety of my men. I will do what is necessary for that, if it avoids a slaughter," Mallistron said.

"I would prefer not to slaughter them, I do admit," Aleithes said. "As much as I love blood, I would rather not shed the blood of countrymen, even traitors. We wish to bring you back into the fold."

"If I tell my men to stand down, can we conduct this like gentlemen?" Mallistron asked, intending to have his army stand down. He himself, though, would not...not yet.

"We can do our best," Aleithes said, after deliberating. "I will speak with you tomorrow. For now, you will relieve your command and your army, or we will attack."

"I relieve my command and surrender my banners to you."

Mallistron was forced to dismount and, unbound, was led away by officers of the Xonos Aleithes. Word spread through the camp that surrender was nigh; nobody resisted, as if they were too shocked to fight back when the Kleisardathans came down into their camp and accosted them, rounding them up and collecting weaponry. Mallistron wanted to curse himself for falling into their trap, and realized that if he had camped two miles away, this might not have happened. Maybe.

"You made a major mistake here," Aleithes spoke, leading their column back up to the high ground. "Why?"

"Because everybody makes them sometimes. You may very well have made your own mistake," Mallistron said, just audible enough for his opponent to hear. The Quieros laughed, but did not provide a straight reply.

"For you, friend, it seems odd. Did you plan this?" Aleithes asked honestly.

"In the sense that I planned out where I intended to camp, yes," Mallistron replied.

"But you did not think about me, no?"

"Not at all." That was not entirely true. He had been wary of the Quieros and his force, but had not assumed they would be _this _close. That, in truth, was a mistake.

"Well, perhaps I'll learn your motives tomorrow, no?" Aleithes asked.

"You may try," Mallistron said.

"I will not kill you," Aleithes promised. "If that was what you were afraid of."

"Hah," Mallistron chuckled grimly. "I do not fear death. I've held its hand and even then walked away. You think I'm afraid?"

"No...personally, I think you've gone mad," admitted the Queiros, grimacing. "But the Archon thinks otherwise. And that is why I'm keeping you alive, like it or not."

Mallistron had no real response to that. He was already rather disgraced by his abrupt apprehension, and he had no desire to carry a conversation just for the sake of tickling his opponent's fancy. He shut his mouth and remained silent for the rest of the journey, as they began the smooth descent down towards the shore basin and the great sprawling seaside camp of the _true _Kleisardathan army.

VVVVV

Leaving the city of B'aileth felt like leaving a priceless treasure behind. They would return soon, Leon knew that, but he couldn't help gazing longingly back at the colorful roofs and bustling wide avenues of the metropolis as he, Herobrine, Darius and accompanying sergeants exited through the southern gate and out onto the grassy plains dividing the city from the jungle surrounding it.

There was about a mile and a half of flowing, open grassland between the nebulous depths of the lush jungle and the city walls, providing plenty of space for traders, slavers and mercenaries to set up their camps and provide their services to those seeking them. Lieutenant Bitawwi had been right yesterday, when he said that his camp would be easy to find; the gold-plated skulls impaled on pikes were clearly indicative of a rich, successful mercenary group, and Leon's party was within Bitawwi's command tent in less than fifteen minutes.

"Easy enough to find, no?" Bitawwi greeted Leon and Hero with a devilish grin.

"I question your sense of decor, but no, it was not difficult," Leon replied dryly, removing his gloves and taking a seat on one of the plush, contemporary couches strewn around the casual quarters. One of Bitawwi's servingmen was already brewing coffee for the discussion, and his captains were slowly filing out to meet their new employers.

"I have under my command fifteen-_thousand_ soldiers, but most of them are regulars," Bitawwi began as everybody settled into their spots. "Archers, spearmen, poleaxes, skirmishers, you get the idea. Unsuitable for a job like this."

"Then why mention them?" challenged Hero.

"I am simply giving you an introduction. It is still important," Bitawwi replied, frowning. "I have a veritable army, but it will be of little use. I _do _however have a force of specialists, which I believe I mentioned before."

"You did so when we last met," Leon reminded him.

"They are trained for all sorts of unusual actions," the lieutenant expounded. "Not necessarily soldiers, but warriors. May I introduce you to my captains?"

"Of course," Leon allowed. The rank and file of about ten men and women standing ready behind Bitawwi would finally receive names and descriptions. Leon and his entourage watched as Bitawwi introduced each of them gaily.

They were quite a mixed lot, coming from all corners of the world and all callings.

There was pirate captain Li Wu Zhao, a rugged, fierce looking woman with long black hair and a grisly scar on her forehead. She had not one, but two sabres strapped to her hips, and she wore scale mail and a leather tabard that looked like it could turn most basic weaponry away, despite its rudimentary nature. She spat on the ground when introduced, and Leon had no real wish to speak to her unless spoken to directly.

Next to her was Arkadiy Turchynov, whom the lieutenant called a "Berkut". A grim-looking, pale man with a face-wrap and heavy plate armor covering his body, he carried both a steel longsword and what looked like a crude, compact submachine gun. Apparently he hailed from Earth, although his background remained nebulous, and he was described only as a soldier, a rather vague term.

Next to the mahout stood a rather peculiar but hospitable-looking adventurer who was introduced only by the name of "Ants-in-my-Eyes" Johnson, a rather strange nomenclature. Bitawwi promised to tell the story at a later date, but Johnson looked rather devoid of both ants and at least one eye, which was obscured by a black patch. There had clearly been some traumatic, tragic incident in the past, but he looked happy enough and greeted Leon cheerfully when he was introduced.

And by him was an out of place brunette with strange robes, tattered and worn and faded of color, bearing a sack full of clinking glass and having naught but a small knife at her hip. She was a rather attractive woman of fair endowment, with slender form, luscious green eyes, and thick-rimmed glasses (and a curvy butt, Leon observed), but she looked more like a librarian than a fighter. She grinned pleasantly when the lieutenant named her as Melissa Hathaway.

There were others - a quarterstaff-wielding rogue, a brutish ex-con from the Cay, a dark-skinned mahout from the far south, an English-accented sailor and fisherman hailing from Nalus, a skilled jungle hunter who wore a strange codpiece, a disgraced knight of House Kleiner - but Leon only gave them passing attention as he became bored. Bitawwi took too long with his introductions and it had been nearly half an hour before he finished, proceeding to other business while his captains took their own seats and were served sour red wine and hot coffee.

"Now, the issue of payment comes up again-"

"Name your price. We will meet it," Leon promised. Both Albrecht and Simons were drawing out purses clinking with gold, recognizing their cue. Bitawwi's eyes shifted to the purses, and Leon could see his sumptuous gaze settle on the bulging caches of currency.

"You truly do keep your word," Bitawwi mused, pupils glimmering with glee. "Of course, I will require more, and my captains too, but…"

"We can pay."

"Something told me you were going to say that," said Bitawwi with a smile. "And something tells me you can. Where do you get all of this money?"

"We have our methods," said Herobrine from behind. "We have our people, too, and we'd prefer to keep them anonymous." He had the money, and the means of extracting it; the secret was kept even from Leon, who was simply supposed to hand it over in the exchange.

"I respect that," Bitawwi responded pleasantly, smiling at them. It was only brief, though.

"It may be counterfeit," Zhao spoke up, her voice ever so slightly raspy. "Check it."

"It could not be so. That would be…unwise." Bitawwi turned to face Leon again, the sparkle in his eyes gone and his smile replaced with a hard, judgmental look. He wished he could confirm the validity of the money, but only Herobrine could do that. The immortal looked rather tranquil, sipping a small cup of black coffee, and did not seem at all worried.

"Arkadiy. Test it," Bitawwi called, taking Simons' purse and handing it to the mercenary. The gruff, muscular Ukrainian withdrew a single coin and clamped it between his teeth, testing its metal content and density. Leon felt like he was going to break out into a nervous sweat within seconds, but Arkadiy withdrew the coin from his teeth, spat on the floor, and plopped it back into the bag.

"Real enough," he said, and then sat back down, grunting as he fell into the couch.

"Then that matter is settled," said Bitawwi, smiling once more. "I apologize for that-"

"No offense is taken. It was a good thing to do, just to be cautious," Leon agreed, thankful that Hero had not tried to pull any counterfeits in their transaction.

"It's quite a good thing for you. I'd have to have your escorts murdered and you flayed for attempting to cheat me!" Bitawwi chirped, smiling grotesquely. "But, thankfully, we can avoid that business."

"I'm pleased that I will...ah, be keeping my skin."

"I hope that you become acquainted with my captains during the duration of our time together." Bitawwi returned attention to his subordinates. "They have served me quite well."

"I will be sure to do so," Leon promised, hoping to get the formalities out of the way. He had business, and he didn't appreciate the smoldering glances he was receiving from Melissa Hathaway, who was trying to play shy behind the bulky, stoic Ukrainian.

"And was there other business we had to do?" asked Bitawwi.

"We need to detail what we're doing," Leon reminded him. "And we need you, specifically, for that."

"We can sit here, can we not?" Bitawwi inquired, looking at them strangely.

"The city's library is where we need to go, really," Herobrine chimed in. "If you wish to take one of your captains with you, that is fine. But we must not go as a large group. No more than four."

Bitawwi's good mood had collapsed, replaced by a dour frown and a rather concerned throbbing in his eyes.

"Johnson, you'll be with me. The rest of you, take care of camp matters while I'm gone, I'll return by sunset," Bitawwi said to his entourage.

"We promise that you will," Leon assured, already making for the exit. "Darius, your sergeants will return to our quarters. You yourself will come with me. The rest of you, keep a low profile for yourselves, and await our return."

Darius' sergeants and men-at-arms wordlessly fulfilled the command and departed, just ahead of Leon and Hero. They were all headed back to the city, but going in different directions; the latter had business to take care of.

"I will warn you, the archives may be unusual. We may also be down there a long time," Hero said as they reentered the city, passing under the great gatehouse arch.

"Unusual? What do you mean?"  
"I...I've heard things. Mostly about its gigantic size, though. We'll need a guide," Hero replied. Leon felt like he was dodging the question, but his description sufficed for now. Size would be an issue, and they would need a librarian to help them find what they were looking for.

They passed huge crowds of workers heading home after a long day's travail, most of them bare-chested and bearing baskets of food for dinner. An elephant, bearing great crates of cargo and goods, parted the crowd, its mahout spurring it on with a fierce tongue-lashing. The city was vibrant as ever, and Leon almost wanted to indulge himself in its lecherous delights. Almost.

"You know, I do wonder if there are ants anywhere in this city?" Captain Johnson asked nobody in particular, sounding rather nervous about the prospect.

"You _would_," Bitawwi scoffed, shaking his head. Leaning over to Leon, he whispered, "He asks that _everywhere_ we go. If he asks you, tell him there are none."

Leon nodded affirmatively. He would probably forget soon enough.

The city's archives appeared smaller than they truly were, when they appeared in sight. A squat stone building, undecorated except for two granite columns flanking the stairs leading up to the entrance's patio, was all one could see from the surface. Leon knew the real treasures were hidden below, secured under lock and key by a dedicated librarian force experienced in protecting their vaults. It may not be possible to access the information they needed, but Herobrine had his connections, and they were both willing to try.

"The door at the front is always unlocked," Herobrine told them as they eased up towards the unimpressive superstructure. "But you can only go so far before you're stopped. It is there, that we may have problems."

"What do you intend to look for?" asked Bitawwi out of curiosity.

"Knowledge. Information," Leon replied. "About what we're seeking."

"So you don't really _know _what you're seeking?"

"We have an inkling," Hero explained, quick to ensure that Bitawwi did not feel dismayed. "We know _what _it is, but we need to know more about it and where others may be. Ancient things, they are."

"That figures," said Bitawwi, a bit glumly. "People will always pay high prices for ancient things."

"We're less concerned about the price, and more concerned about the possible consequences of its usage by..._unsavory _elements," Herobrine said, dodging the more sensitive details of the matter. Bitawwi frowned but kept his peace, deciding not to query further for his own sake. They had paid him too much for him to back out now, and the contract had been signed, but he appeared to be having second, perhaps even third thoughts.

The interior, at least the foyer, was completely empty. It was dimly lit, only by candles in sconces on the undecorated brazilwood-paneled walls, and the decorations were few. There were rugs and a few paintings hanging lazily from hooks, but no humans to appreciate them. The door shut behind them and the oppressive heat of B'aileth was traded for a blood-chilling cold, like the chill of a dusty tomb. Everyone shuddered as they passed through the foyer and into a long hallway, this one more well-lit and more inviting than the foyer.

The hallway led them to the actual entry room, which was a small affair containing only a few rickety wooden benches, some dusty decorative furniture, a painting of a rather savage looking primitive hunting prey in the jungle's underbrush, and a desk where there sat a dour-looking man with a brown hood and strange silverine eyepatch, looking down at a book. Behind him stood a simple, roughly-sanded wooden door with only a rudimentary handle, completely bare of decorations and no more than a glorified slab of plank, really. It was, however, their destination.

"What do you seek here?"

The man was now looking up at them, his book down and his eye fixated on each one of them, studying their features thoroughly. He looked to be about seventy, an impressively old age for a resident of a tropical hellscape, and appeared vigorous despite his many years. The door, Leon noted, had no security on it, not even a deadbolt, which was quite unexpected.

"Entry to the archives, guided by one of your own if it must be so. We only seek knowledge," replied Hero, stepping up to the plate. The librarian appeared to be sizing him up, quite intrigued by the immortal's unique eyes and ageless appearance. His book long forgotten, he rose from his chair.

"I will be right back. You must stay here," he ordered, turning towards the door. In a swift movement he had disappeared behind the veil and they were left alone again, the only souls in this part of the library. Leon could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck, and he noticed Bitawwi was visibly unnerved. This place had a strange, abnormal atmosphere to it; he felt uncomfortable just standing in the tiny entry room, and felt as though something was watching him from beyond his perspective. It was an anxiety-inducing feeling, to be sure.

About five minutes later, a rather shrivelled, weathered man, older than the first, came through the door followed by his coworker. The older man looked over them all, staring especially intensely at Herobrine and Leon, as if trying to discern some veiled secrets.

"You wish to enter?" he asked, his voice surprisingly strong and hearty for such a withered figure.

"If you please, sir." Herobrine bowed his head out of respect.

"They come without token or advance warning," the younger librarian warned, casting a dark look at Herobrine.

"They have given warning. You were just not alerted," the older man replied. "Please sit. I will guide our guests in."

"Alone, sir?"

"Alone, yes," said the older man. "They are important people. I will be a while."

Presuming him to be the head librarian, Leon bowed his head respectfully just as Hero had, in lieu of being lead into the bowels of the archives. The aged librarian, shuffling back to the door, opened it smoothly, and bid them follow. Leaving the younger archivist as the only breathing being in the entire entryway, the foursome descended down a long spiral staircase, the ground consuming them as they left the comfort of the wood paneling and carpeted hallway behind and entered a world of stone and darkness.

The world below was carved out of the belly of the earth, walls of rough stone and a ceiling of planks that was clearly the floor of the building above. As far as Leon could see, long shelves, nearly twenty feet tall, stretched across the room and disappeared into the abyss of literature beyond his vision. Some shelves were partially empty, but here and there were some packed to the brim with dusty old tomes and reference volumes long forgotten by the annals of history.

"You are one of the few to be able to come down here," the elder spoke to them as they reached the landing at the bottom of the staircase. "Not many look upon our treasure."

"This is impressive," Leon whispered under his breath, looking up at the towering brazilwood shelves and admiring their contents.

"I was able to strike a deal with our friend here because of my relation with my brother," Herobrine replied, not bothering to control his vocal volume, for the elder clearly heard him.

"Markus Persson is the creator of all, despite the claims of others and their false deities," the elder librarian said, continuing slowly into the archives. "We owe his blood this much."

Leon felt rather uncomfortable in the labyrinth of the library, overshadowed by the titanic bookcases and their numerous tomes. The librarian walked on easily, quite used to the environment, but the four of them followed him almost cautiously. Everyone, even Hero, looked a bit uncomfortable. The sheer size of the room, with a ceiling forty feet above them and the bookcases stretching for perhaps three hundred feet or more, was enough to unnerve them all.

"I know what you're looking for," the librarian preempted, leading them further into the warrens. "We don't have much on the subject, but there have been some books and _plenty _of reports."

"SOCOR?" Herobrine ventured.  
"They have expressed interest in such artifacts," replied the librarian. "But have never pursued them. There is no profit there, nor immediate threat."

"What are they talking about?" Bitawwi asked Leon, looking warily at the librarian.

"The artifacts we're looking for," Leon answered, owing him a brief explanation. "They're called 'Wither skulls'. Other than that, we don't know much about them."

"Is that what we're being paid to retrieve?" Bitawwi asked, interest piqued.

"We'll be with you, so it's not like you're delivering them to us while we wait. But yes, that is what you and I are seeking."

"Very ancient things, worthless to any but the practitioners of Void magic...or their opponents," the librarian called from ahead. He clearly had an inkling of their reasons for being present that day, and Leon felt his blood run cold. Something did not feel right about this place, and he felt like he was being watched from high above, like he was being _studied_.

They were led through another door and down a long, cold stone hallway, chiseled roughly out of the earth and lit only by the librarian's lantern. It swung menacingly in blackness, suspended in the void by his withered hand. They came to another door, and entered an anteroom with four doors with adjoining hallways. Each room and hallway here remained undecorated and barren, chiseled out of stone, and the doors themselves were simple and inelegant.

They came, finally, to their destination, a small, stuffy room packed with dusty shelves of old, collapsing encyclopediae and forgotten tomes jammed into the tight confines of their cases. Bereft of torches or light sources of any sort, the cramped postern library was lit only by the lantern of the librarian, and was thus pitch black anywhere outside the small orb of lumen. Adjusting the silver eyepatch, he searched the room, looking for the knowledge they needed. Darius began coughing violently behind them, likely beset by the clouds of dust that hovered listlessly within the musty, chilly air.

"You alright back there?" called Leon, reaching back to slap Darius heartily on the back.

"This place needs cleaning," he grumbled, gasping for breath. "I'll be fine."

"Take it easy. We won't be long," Leon promised.

They sat in dimness while the librarian searched some shelves at the back, his lantern dimly illuminating the faces of the four men. Leon now felt genuinely uncomfortable, sitting in half-darkness and aware of some other presence in the room with him. It wasn't anywhere _near _him, but he could feel it somewhere nearby, just examining him. That was the worst part about it; he didn't just feel watched, he felt _studied_.

"The information you seek is ancient, but such things do not change," the old voice croaked, as the librarian returned from the back. "I have found what you're looking for."

He had found a tattered old rag, perhaps seventy-five pages and no more, covered in dust and looking to be literally crumbling to nothingness. Leon tenderly reached out to acquire it, as gently as possible, hoping he would not damage it in the process of looking. As soon as he touched the cover, he felt a chill run through his blood and a book on the other side of the room fell over, followed by a few more.

"They are fine. They are with me," the librarian called, his attention remaining on Leon, and the latter quickly realized he was speaking aloud to someone else in the room. More books fell, and Leon felt something was amiss. He dared not back out now.

"They are with _me_," the librarian repeated, more sternly this time.

The cold feeling in Leon's blood vanished immediately and he took the book, feeling rather shaken. Whether the incident had been caused by the book itself, or it was entirely unrelated, he did not know. He wanted to return to the city, no matter how humid or oppressive it was. Even Herobrine was beginning to look visibly uncomfortable, his eyes darting over to the location of the noise, where the books had slumped over.

"There is enough in here for you, I should think, but I will keep looking. You must stay with me, though," the librarian warned. "You cannot wander."

Nobody wanted to wander. They all gathered around Leon and tried to take peeks at the book, with Johnson and Bitawwi jostling for a better position. Darius had another coughing fit and stepped away, his hacking breaking the silence of the room.

"This is dark," Herobrine murmured, looking at the pages. "Very dark things. Forgotten by most of the world."

"You would know?" inquired Leon, pushing Captain Johnson back a bit further for some breathing space.

"A little. As you know, my brother-"

"Yes, he was a recluse and did not speak much. I'm beginning to wish he did," Leon grumbled, flipping to a conclusion page. The ink had faded with time, but he could still make some of it out:

"_Of the ritual for the creation of one of the Greater fiends, we will not speak. There are too many rituals for lesser Void fiends, and too many horrific things that may be brought to life via them, and we will not cover them. But we may discuss the essentials of the skulls in detail:_

_As far as we can tell, they are not true skulls. They are a product of solidified matter, that which cannot be found on the planet and which surmounts our understanding of the elements of the gods - earth, air, water, and fire. This matter does not fit into any of these categories, as it does not flow like water nor burns like fire. The closest match is earth, but even then the 'skull' refuses to fall into a category, as it is not malleable nor breakable, and contact can cause temporary bouts of panic or memory loss, as noted when the famed gladiator Tau605 laid hands upon one of these relics and forgot that he was a gladiator, an event that launched his career in beat poetry._

_The skulls have since been distributed throughout the world, falling into the hands of brigands or being exchanged to trustworthy, strong rulers in order to keep them safe from nefarious hands. One is located in B'aileth, one is located within the troves of Aergard, another resides in the World's Maw, and another can be found in the halls of Teak Mauth. As for the locations of the other skulls, of which there should be six, we are unaware."_

"That's what we need to know," Herobrine said, pointing to the listed locations. "The others...where they are at."

"Yeah, but shouldn't we worry about _what _it is, first?" asked Bitawwi. "I mean...memory loss, panic? What else could it induce?"

"We don't know," replied Hero. "But that means we ought to exercise extreme caution when handling them."

"What the hell are they made of, anyway?" the lieutenant asked, flipping the page cautiously and looking at an illustration made of one. It looked like a human skull, sort of, but the eyes were much narrower and slanted, almost nefariously. The mouth was far too wide, and crooked so that the smile looked almost hateful. There were no teeth, only two large fangs like one would expect on a snake, and the forehead was prominent and heavily ridged. It was definitely not a human skull, and the fact that it was _actually _jet black, and that was not just a product of the ink, reinforced that fact further.

"That is, ah, quite creepy," Johnson commented from behind. "But now we know what we're looking for, at least!"

"Quiet," the librarian hissed, having returned to them in the intervening time. "You want to keep your voices low."

"Apologies," said Leon, and Darius, who had been coughing heavily again, covered his mouth to dull the noise. "We've got what we need, I believe, when do you want us to return this?"

"Return it!?" the librarian gasped, scrunching his nose. "You cannot take it. No. That is not possible."

"This...this is a library, correct? We cannot check these out?" Leon asked.

"Foolish idea," the librarian sneered, taking the book and putting it gently back in place. "You cannot take _any _book from here, but especially not from these rooms."

Leon felt the chill in his blood again, and felt the room growing colder. Something was amiss once more, and the librarian clearly felt it as he replaced the tome.

"We might have to look at some more-"

"No. It is time for us to return. I apologize," the librarian said, hastily making his way back to the door.

"If we cannot check any books out, we must look at some more," Leon insisted, growing wary of the environment around him. "We need more information."

"You know what you are tackling. You know enough, there is no need to delve further. We must go. They do not like that you are here," the librarian said. He made his way to the door, and remembering his previous words, Leon was forced to follow, frustrated but at the same time a bit nervous. There was something else in the library with them, the entire time, and it was not a librarian, in the normal sense.

They returned to the main room, and proceeded back towards the main staircase, passing through the warrens. Leon felt as though he were in some sort of nightmare, the only light being the lantern of the librarian. They were the only human beings in the labyrinth, but there were other things in there too, watching from the shadows.

"Can you feel it?" Herobrine whispered, struggling to keep pace with the old man, who was now walking quite briskly.

"Observant. They do not like that you are here. You seek out too much, and they will not tolerate it, despite my pleas. Please, keep up," the librarian pleaded, moving even faster. Leon could see the stairwell ahead, the same one they had descended from. Just a little bit farther, and this would all be forgotten. They had what they needed.

"Who are they?" asked Bitawwi, and that was when the room was the coldest. Leon breathed and his throat burned from the cold. He was shaking violently.

And then they stepped over the threshold of the landing, and the bitter cold evaporated, to be replaced with the normal dank chill of the underground. The librarian turned to them, and he even smiled.

"Thank you for your visit. I wish you luck in your journey, and pray that you will handle what is thrown at you. You are facing the Void, and the Void faces you. Tread carefully," he advised, before turning from them and walking back into the library.

They were quick to ascend the stairs and return to the city. Its oppressive heat and throngs of people were almost welcome now.

VVVVV

Sergeant Shen and his team had been the first to return, bearing with them a few survivors but nothing else. Kleiner oversaw their entry and then went down to the ground to greet Shen, who had thankfully returned with all of his men. They looked exhausted, however, and the horses looked sickly and bone-thin after their long haul through the ash.

"We only found a handful of people. Literally nothing left to salvage from what ruins we could get to," Shen reported as they walked down the empty avenues on their way back to the Council Chambers. Most of the men departed for the barracks for their first decent meal in two weeks, leaving just Shen and his corporals on the way back. The streets felt even more dead now, with no guards being posted on the corners except for the central plaza; they didn't have enough men to garrison the interior of the city, as the walls required more and more sentries nowadays. The enemy was growing nearer, like a predator stalking injured prey, waiting for its opportunity to finish the kill and satiate its hunger.

"Has Cobb returned yet?"

"No, not yet. I don't expect much from him, my lord," Shen replied, coughing into a handkerchief. The ash in the air had unsettled everyone initially, but now side effects were beginning to become visible. Bronchitis and pneumonia both would become more and more common as the weeks passed and autumn turned to winter. That was the frightening reality of their untenable position in the wretched ruins of Milltown.

"If you found no food, how did you find survivors?" Kleiner asked, briefly curious. He instantly regretted the question when he saw Shen's face, and he knew his answer.

"They are in a poor state, Lord Kleiner," Shen changed topic. "Malnourished, ill...I do not expect them to survive."

"It is good that you brought them back, anyway," Kleiner said.

"Is it really?" Shen challenged. And to that, Kleiner had no answer but dismissal. Shen returned to his quarters silently.  
The sergeant was probably right, but why should they condemn somebody to death when there was a chance for survival? It was that beacon of hope, no matter how dull or exhausted it was, that meant the difference between cessation and continuity. Kleiner himself would give up only when that little light had been extinguished and destroyed, and its rays had ceded shining. Many would give up before that point, though, preferring death to the hellish volcanic landscape they had been forced to inhabit.

Cobb returned two days later, arriving just in the nick of time for a particularly nasty cholera outbreak amongst the last survivors from the Docks Quarter, who had taken shelter in a rickety boarding house close to the Pine District. Kleiner had peered into the care ward to take a look at the infected, but he backed out quickly when met with the awful stench. It was unbearable; dozens of people were dying of cholera, typhoid fever and smallpox in there, and he pitied the untrained, unprepared nurses who had been working for months to try and stem the outbreaks while their co-workers succumbed around them. Feeling weak in his stomach, he went to meet Cobb, returning from Crestan.

Cobb's caravan had only eight men left, and were down to ten horses, one of them near death. It was clear they had run into trouble, and the poor engineer looked bedraggled and fatigued when his mount stumbled through the gates, returning from the wasteland outside.

"What happened out there?" Kleiner inquired as the column dismounted, weary from a week of harsh, dangerous travel.

"We ran into deserters on the way up. Killed one of mine, and we killed two of them and they took off. But the city...oh, the city. Six of us didn't return when I dispatched scouting parties, and on our way out two more were killed. Five more died on the way here," Cobb reported grimly. "The horses...well, we made good use of them."

"_What_ _happened_ _in Crestan_?" Kleiner demanded, putting emphasis on every word.

"Thieves, rabids, cannibals. They all happened," Cobb explained, choking up. "Fuck me, I don't even really know. It was a madhouse. We didn't find anybody sane or passive in those haunted ruins."

They had brought back some non-perishable goods, thankfully, but those would last perhaps three days, tops. The expedition had not been worth the loss of life and supplies, and the trauma inflicted on the unfortunate survivors. Kleiner could only imagine what kind of ash-bound horrors had been lurking in that city, their only nutrition coming from the flesh of less fortunate beings.

"There's nothing valuable left up there," Cobb finished, as he walked back to the chambers with Lord Kleiner. There was a single person on the street today, begging for money or food - a pointless endeavour, given that money was almost useless now that rationing had been implemented, and the only market was barely staffed. Nevertheless, Kleiner thumbed the wretched sod a silver coin, which would buy him a decent meal or a day's worth of poor meals.

"I can see that," Kleiner agreed after passing the beggar. "It was a poor decision to send anyone up there, in retrospect."

"My Lord, if I may-"

"You are dismissed," Kleiner interjected. "Get some rest."

Cobb darted off, leaving Kleiner to walk alone. He did not fear robbery or assault, even if he was isolated; there was nobody around to harm him. His walk back to the chambers was uneventful and boring, and he walked under a lifeless sky.

Night was falling and he needed a candle; they were running low, and even though he could stand the walk through the darkened hallways of the chambers to his meagre office, he needed light to read reports and look over lists. To preserve his source of light, he waited until he had reached his quarters to light the candle, shuffling through the unforgiving darkness before extracting a match.

The lists and reports that Sergeant Shen had handed him were as grim as ever. Cholera and typhoid fever were wreaking havoc on the city, especially the Pine District, and food stocks were plummeting as the sick had to be cared for. Kleiner wanted to curse his kindness, and wanted the sick put to death; they were a drain on resources, but he could not bring himself to execute them just for being ill. That was not what he stood for, and he would rather die at the side of his morales than abandon his humanity.

At the end of the day, did it really matter, though? Death was imminent; it was just waiting to knock. Sooner or later, Kleiner would have to face it, either in battle or through more heinous, nefarious means. He did not want to think about that more than he had to; without reading the rest of the reports, he blew out the candle and left his office, unable to finish his work. He could not struggle through it that night - simply impossible. It would have to wait.

VVVVV

Matt was sitting in his topography room when he felt the shock pass through him. It felt like a common static shock, but more powerful, and for just a moment the world ceased to exist. It returned instantly in normal form, except one thing had changed; they were back online.

For Matt, it meant nothing. But for Sora, it meant everything; separated from the outside world for months, she was finally reunited with the connection she entered on.

The word spread quickly around town, but it was given little heed by most of the peasants. Being perms, they were confined to this world, unable to leave for the other or return to what was once home. This was home now, and they went about their daily business, harvesting their radishes and potatoes in preparation for a long winter and herding their livestock as they normally did.

Sora, however, was excited. This was her chance to go back. She received the news gleefully, but knew Matt wouldn't be quite as ecstatic as she. He had been working hard to prepare the town for winter, as well as train new recruits for the defense force and oversee the felling of trees to bolster the town's walls. Sora's departure, which was imminent now that the connection had been restored, would not be taken lightly. She knew she had to inform him, and the sooner she did the better, but she also knew that he would not be happy to hear it.

"Matt? A moment, please?" she asked, peeking into his study room. He was looking at a map and drawing on it, probably planning something out. He was normally assisted by Sergeant Stellmeier, but not this time; the sergeant was absent.

"Eh?" Matt looked up from his work.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, yeah...I'm not too busy." He was, clearly, but he didn't want to ignore Sora. Over the past few weeks, they had been a little distant from each other, because of what had happened recently. They had a few arguments, and Matt and Avery Steadwin were still standing off, although Avery had relented a little. Matt wasn't his normal self, and the stress of running Stallhart and keeping its people alive was wearing on him, noticeably so.

"Did you feel it?" she asked him.

"Yeah, I felt it, I remember it," he replied dryly. "Are you leaving, then?"

"Oh...well, yes, in a bit-"

"I'm sorry if that was rude," Matt apologized. "It was just...quite sudden. I wasn't expecting it."

"Neither was I. But this is great news, Matt!" Sora cheered, hugging him out of happiness. "I can see how things are back home! People can return!"

"Some can," Matt grumbled, looking downcast.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," Sora apologized, feeling bad now. Her brief moment of ecstasy had hurt him. "I didn't mean...ya know, I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"There's nothing back home for me, anyway," said Matt. "This is the closest thing I've got to home now." He managed a weak smile. "You go on ahead, okay? Just don't stay too long."

"Are you sure you'll be fine here?"

"You have a chance to go home," he reminded her. "Take it while you can. I'll hold down the fort, eh?"

"Stay safe," she asked him, wanting to kiss him badly. She couldn't bring herself to do it, though, for some reason. She needed time away, to think about her relationship with him and how to react to him. She needed a vacation, in a sense.

"I'll do my best," he promised, and she shut the door behind her. She knew she loved him, but she needed to remind herself of that. A vacation was in order, for sure, but could Matt deal with the isolation while she was away? She began bitterly chastising herself as she went about the business she needed to take care of.

Yu Jin had wanted to come with her and Sora saw no reason why she should deny the girl that luxury. As it turned out, she lived in the outskirts of Seattle - by chance, the same city that Sora would be returning to. It was delightfully unexpected, even though it would require some travel for both parties.

Sarah Lancaster, herself a perm, had no choice but to stay and take care of the house, and Sora felt bad for her when she realized Lana would be in charge the entire time.

"Are you sure you can manage?" she asked when talking to Sarah before departing.

"I'll keep a low profile, m'lady," promised Sarah, smiling. "I'll be fine."  
"I can stay-"

"You don't have to. I'll manage," Sarah said. That was probably untrue. Sora, in a lapse of judgment, decided she would go even despite her doubts. She needed to return. She _had _a home, unlike most of these people, and ought to return.

Yu Jin met her in, of all places, a supply closet where brooms, pails, shovels and some cleaning implements were kept. There was no need to make a big scene of this; they simply had to close their eyes, establish their connection again, and transfer. Easy, simple, hassle-free; it was designed to be that way, although the designers had probably failed to foresee such an incident as the Enderborn come to pass when creating their new toy.

"Where will I find you?" Sora asked.

"Meet at the Starbucks in Capitol Hill? Can that work?" Yu Jin suggested.

"That'll work. I might be a while. Parents, first," she reminded her servant. It would be weird, returning back to Earth and the total lack of feudal society. She had grown used to this world.

"Do you think Lana will keep the house in good order?" Yu Jin asked, closing the door behind them.

"I'm praying for that," Sora replied, establishing her connection. She could feel the other end in her head, and all she needed to do was will herself out, and then she'd be back in the material world.

"Do you think-"

"No. I want to leave. No more second thoughts."

"What about Matt?" asked Yu Jin.

"He'll be fine." Now that, that might've been a lie. She wasn't so sure of it herself; Matt would be surrounded by enemies and trouble, and would have little company to engage himself with while she was away. She started feeling bad for him, so she left. Better to run from the problem then to stick around and possibly suffer from it. He would be fine, she figured; he was a nobleman, a fighter, and he had the sergeant with him.

She established her connection, and zipped into it. Out of _MINECRAFT _she went, and back into Earth she landed.

She awoke within her capsule, alive and breathing, and for the first time in months she was material once more, no longer a digital manifestation of her consciousness. She was _home_, or close enough to it.

The capsule immediately opened, severed in two at its center, and allowed her to exit. She pushed it effortlessly up and rose, rubbing her eyes and stretching her arms after the brief venture into nothingness that allowed her to return to her body.

Dan, ever sentinel, sat on his stool at his computer, watching over both the capsules' monitoring equipment and gazing longingly at some weird pillows online, ones bearing the half-naked bodies of slender, shy anime girls. He hadn't noticed Sora rise, but _she _noticed that several of the previously filled capsules were now empty, their occupants long gone. She realized, with a painful pang, that they had actually died, and never had the chance to respawn.

"Oh, shit, is it back online!?" Dan exclaimed, looking to Sora and then to his computer screen. His eyes widened with surprise as he realized that his business, briefly shuttered, was now up and running.

As if to punctuate his delight, five other capsules in the room opened and their occupants, in various states of disarray and terror, stumbled out, ecstatic to be home once more. Two of them hugged, and one of them, a younger girl, broke down crying next to hers and huddled against the wall out of terror.

"Oh, thank god! Finally, it's back-"

Sora shot a glance at him so wicked and fierce he fell silent instantly, shrinking back into his chair. He turned his eyes to the computer screen again, looking at the vital signs. Where twenty or so vital signs should be shown, only six remained. So many casualties.

"I'm sorry," he apologized as she made to depart, leaving the others behind to bathe in their joy or their sorrow. "I didn't...I forgot-"

"It doesn't matter now. We're back and alive, that's what matters." She wasn't quite sure what that meant, but it was better than silence. She took a look at Matt's capsule and saw his body, completely immobilized and lifeless, lying within, attached by the electrodes on his head. She couldn't bear looking at it for any longer; it was unnatural, alien, and it felt so _wrong_. She retreated from the scene quickly.

She left Dan's house feeling rather upset, and realized it was raining and she had no umbrella with her. Typical Seattle, pissing on you when you least wanted it to. She had to catch a bus or taxi later; Capitol Hill was a few miles from Redmond, and she needed to meet Yu Jin quickly. Every hour here was nearly a day for the simulation, and the more time she was away from Stallhart the more worried she would be.

Home wasn't far from Dan's little suburban bungalow; it was a short bus ride back to her parents impressive manor house, in one of the richer suburbs of the city. Her mother and father had made their fortunes in the professions of surgery and psychotherapy, respectively, and their wealth was on display in the form of a beautiful house and a lovely lawn.

She knocked on the front door, but didn't bother waiting before heading inside. She really couldn't wait.

"Sora!"

Her mother was the first to see her, and Sora would forever remember that look of shock and joy that painted her face when she laid eyes on her daughter after a week of worry. They embraced wordlessly, and Sora was ready to cry as she wrapped her arms around her mom's waist. She had enough restraint not to, but her mom did not, and it took her a few minutes to settle her nerves enough to brew some tea for them.

"Wait until your father comes home from work, he'll absolutely lose it," her mom said, her voice quavering. "We've been worried sick for you, honey!"

"Mom, it's been months-"

"It's only been a week, but they told us what it was like in there. It was on the news several times," her mom said. "FOX did a whole segment, claiming...well, nevermind what they said. You're back now."

"I'm going back, mom," said Sora, wishing she didn't have to break the news to her.

"What? But...you just got back home!" her mom argued. Sora's heart broke when she looked into her mother's eyes; they were glassy and wracked with pain, and Sora knew she couldn't hurt her parents like this. She realized now she was trapped in a difficult situation.

"But...you can come back, right?" her mom asked.

"I...I can, technically," Sora stammered, feeling sweat bead in-between her fingers. "But...mom...my friends are still in there."

"Sweetie, we need to talk, you and I and your father. We've got to sit down and talk," her mom said, struggling to stay calm. It was clear the past week had been hard on her, and had likely been equally as hard on her father. Even if it had just been a week, they must have been worried sick, she thought.

"I need to meet with my friends, too," Sora reminded her.

"Family first, dear," her mom reminded her with a shaken smile. "You're...you're a grown up girl, and able to make your own decisions, but we need to make sure that we talk to you first."

"When does he get home, then?"

It was another half hour before her dad returned. She had waited the entire time, fidgeting nervously, wondering how much time was passing in the simulation without her. She had, at most, two days to spend in Seattle before she had to return to him. Time wasted here was time _very much _wasted there, and she couldn't afford that.

"God, the news was all over it!" her father exclaimed after wrapping her in a tight hug. "We were fearing the worst!"

"I'm okay, dad, I promise," Sora comforted him.

"Your friends have been worried about you, baby!" her dad said, ushering her into the dining room, where tea had been prepared for their little conference. "And so have your aunts and uncles, my god! Everyone thought we would never seen you again."

"Nari, we need to talk," said her mom, speaking to her father.

"Yes, yes, of course, we have-"

"Sora has something she needs to tell you." Her mom looked over at her daughter with a pained expression.

"_Mom_," Sora grumbled, looking from her mother and then to her father. "Dad, I'll be honest. I'm going back."

Her dad looked just as injured as her mom. She wondered if this really was the best decision she could make. The former looked simply dumbstruck, as if he had just been punched in the shoulder and had no clue how to react.

"Sweetheart, you can't," her dad replied after a few seconds of stunned silence. "You...you just came back!"

"Dad, there are people in there waiting for me!" Sora explained, feeling frustrated with the whole situation. She had been home for half an hour and already there was an argument, as she had feared.  
"I cannot allow you to go back! There will-"

"Nari, she's an adult, she can make her own decisions," her mother reminded him, cutting him off in the process. "But...Sora, sweetie, do you realize what you're doing to us? We thought you were dead-"

"And now you're going to go back to that hellhole!?" her dad exclaimed.

"Dad, I can't _abandon _the people back there-"

"It's a choice between your friends and your family," her mom said. "Sora, are you really gonna choose them?"

This was such a difficult choice being put before her. She realized she couldn't bear to destroy her mother and father like this, no - that simply wasn't an option. She looked at them defeatedly, and realized she had to lie.

"No...no, I can't. I have to stay here," she said, feeling her stomach drop.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. There's nothing we can do for them," her mother tried to console her. "I know how you feel-"

"So I'm just going to have to leave them behind?" she asked, trying to appeal again.

"Honey, we've been so upset over this," said her dad, now trying to be more comforting since his temperament had been soothed. "Do you realize what we've been going through? Other families had their kids _killed_, hauled out of those...pod...things, dead and lifeless! We were afraid the same would happen to you."

"We just want you here at home, sweetie, even if it's not for long. Your family wants you back," her mom said. "Will you stay?"

"I...I will stay," she decided, lying again. She wanted to cry so badly now, and knew in a minute she wouldn't be able to retain it any longer. She needed time alone, and then she needed to find Yu Jin.

She cried first. Her room, undisturbed after her week of absence and gently, tenderly dusted by her caring mother, was her safe space and her hideaway. She buried her face into her pillow and wept into it, beset by an awful dilemma. She _cared _about Matt - she might even love him! Feelings were confusing, and she felt bewildered when confronted by them, but she knew that somewhere in her heart there was a special place reserved for that lovable dork. But...how could she tell her parents that, and expect them to accept it, after what they had gone through? That made her cry more, and she had to hold her pillow in her arms to keep her stable. She was wasting time by letting her feelings flow; contain them now, and let them be purged later. She had to find Yu Jin, while she was thinking about how to handle this situation.

"Can I go out and see my friends, at least?" she asked after returning downstairs, having mopped her eyes dry. Her father was nowhere to be found; her mother, unsurprisingly, was glued to the afternoon broadcast news.

"You promise to come back...right?" asked her mother, tentatively.

"I promise." That was true, for now. She couldn't speak for tomorrow. Her parent's blessings received, she darted out the door, handbag draped over her shoulder, and made for their meeting place, the little Starbuck's in the Capitol Hill neighborhood.

Her parents' words ringing in her ears and the fear of deceit crippling her, she stepped off the metro bus and arrived at the quaint little coffee shop, its very name equated to Seattle as a city. As she had promised, Yu Jin was sitting inside, waiting patiently for her "lady" to arrive, even though the feudal dichotomy had been vaporized the moment they had returned to civil society.

"Where do _you _live, anyway?"

"Several blocks down, actually," Yu Jin said, with a sly smile that betrayed her innocence. "I, ah, never thought to tell you...didn't seem pertinent."

"Well, it would've been nice to know," Sora scoffed, taking her seat. "Works out well, though."

"To be fair, 'my lady' never asked," Yu Jin snickered.

"Where is Sarah from?" inquired Sora.

"She never said. Somewhere in the US, I know that much," Yu Jin replied.

Coffee arrived for her, and although she offered Sora a sip, the latter declined. She wasn't in the mood for caffeine; maybe later, if she caught up with her other friends. _If_.

"Does this feel weird?" Sora asked after a pensive moment, in which her friend sipped carefully at the foaming, frothy latte.

"Does what?"

"Being...equals, like this?" Sora never treated Yu Jin like a slave, really, just as a worker. Even though she was a civil servant, and not necessarily _liberated _by feudal standards, she was never treated in a poor manner, quite the contrary of Lana Valdez's domestic doctrine. Sora liked Yu Jin as more than just a servant, as she felt like a friend in a world where friendship was a luxury and hostility was easy to come by.

"Maybe a little. I'm not used to it, you know?" Yu Jin asked.

"I feel you."

"When I came to the...the, uh, simulation, I figured it would just be like a game, like a lot of people said," Yu Jin explained.

"People at my school thought the same," Sora mused on her classmates. "It was like...a videogame, but not. That lured some people in."

"Well, we were dead wrong, right?" Yu Jin said, smirking.

"Where did you start?" asked Sora, remembering her own humble beginnings. She had forgotten the name of their tiny village, the quaint collection of hovels and thatch houses that had been her home for the briefest of time. The quartermaster's building, the smoky butcher's shop, the produce vendor, the woodcutter's camp, and the little Harvest Festival were all distant memories now, erased by fire and war.

"Some tiny village in the Green Rush. I got dumped off there and immediately picked up a job in domestic labor. Hardly what I had imagined myself doing, but y'know, I needed money if I wanted to travel. I wanted to see the sights of the place, right? It was like, this brave new world, and I had to traverse it and have my own story to tell!"

"And how'd that work out?"

"You can probably guess," Yu Jin sighed. "It...when the war started, I fled with the other refugees, before it got really bad. The Ditch, they said, would be safe. And they were right, yes, but it just felt..._wrong_."

"A dream denied?" Sora ventured.

"I had imagined being a world traveler. What I got was servitude," said Yu Jin, with a nervous laugh. "But...it hasn't been that bad."

"You're more of a friend to me than a worker," Sora admitted, smiling warmly at her. The latter returned the gesture, but with more blushing and a bit of a mumbled apology when she started laughing.

"Aw, well, I kind of figured that," Yu Jin said, her cheeks still cutely crimson. "And I'm happy for it."

"I'm going to try to meet with my friends tonight. You want to come?"

"I mean...I suppose, yeah-"

"Ask your parents and see," Sora suggested, to which she received a rather unusual reception. Yu Jin's visage darkened, and her throat tightened into a knot.

"I...that won't be necessary," she stammered, looking uncomfortable. Sora's instinct told her to change the subject, and quick.

"Well, then you're welcome to come," she said, smiling widely. "We need some more company!"

"Can you text me?" Yu Jin asked.

"Give me your number," demanded Sora, and the two exchanged contact details. The return to the modern world of technology and vice was welcome, for once, for the vestiges of feudal society were being briefly shed and no longer were they confined to their pre-determined roles. Yu Jin, once the quiet, obedient domestic laborer, was now a normal teenage girl again, happily looking at her Snapchat updates as they left.

"When should I get ready?" Yu Jin asked as they stepped out of the bustling cafe, headed home before the meeting.

"Like four or so. I'll be sure to text you," Sora promised.

The two bid farewell and both stepped onto their own buses, headed to different destinations. The rain ceased for the rest of the day as they headed home, allowing them a little glimmer of sunlight before night fell, just enough to put both at ease.


	13. Into Dusk

Seattle, in contrast to Stallhart, was a beautiful city after sunset. Whereas the latter was bathed in blackness whenever the sun dipped below the horizon, the former shone brightly into the night, its glimmering lights illuminating the sky and banishing the menace of darkness. Redmond, especially, was gorgeous at night, and Sora felt rather safe walking the streets due to the demographics of the neighborhood and the security provided by the local police department, which was awash with wealth thanks to the generosity of affluent local families. Home to Microsoft, Wild Tangent and, most recently, Bae Systems, the city was a shining example of a successfully established technology nexus, rivaled perhaps only by Sacramento and Stockholm.

Her friend Arianna was part of one of those affluent families, her dad being involved in a successful tech startup himself. Possessing one of the nicest houses in her friend group, Arianna often found herself hosting any parties or get-togethers, presumably because of her luxurious quarters and spacious basement. She didn't seem to mind, though; rather, she seemed to cherish the attention.

Sora's request at the door was met punctually by Arianna herself, bedecked in a beautiful white and gold dress with sparkling earrings and a flattering miniskirt. She was, and always would be, a sucker for fashion and sharp looks.

"Well, look who dragged herself back out of hell!" Arianna exclaimed, smiling gaily.

"Oh, god...I missed you!" Sora groaned, throwing herself into her friend's arms. They embraced tightly for a second, necessary after Sora's tribulations. She finally did feel home, now that she was away from the scrying eyes of her worried parents and in the arms of her one of her best friends; she was comfortable here.

"I missed you too, love," said Arianna. "How you been?"

"Well, do you need to ask?" Sora wondered sarcastically.

"I'm sure you've got a lot to tell us, and we'd love to hear it," Arianna said, flipping her wild hair over her shoulder and out of her dress straps. "But you gotta come in first. Come, come!"

Sora gratefully stepped over the threshold and entered a world she had been barred from for months now - the world of the rich and affluent. Everything about the furniture and decor in Arianna's house spoke of wealth and success. The fact that her parents were nowhere to be seen as the two tromped down to the basement spoke to the family's success; they were so busy they couldn't even be bothered to be home during the weekend. It _did _give Arianna plenty of breathing room for partying, however, something for which she was clearly grateful.

Two of Sora's other friends were already there; Rosie and Clara, both in her class, were sitting in the back corner of the decorated basement, talking excitedly over one's phone. Rosie, a shy, slim, black-haired Chinese exchange student, was normally pretty quiet, but when prodded into a social atmosphere she would gladly converse and get started on whatever topic intrigued her the most; Clara, on the other hand, was a social animal, the patron saint of Absolut-soaked parties and late-night hookups. Her luscious blonde hair was tied back into a ponytail and, per usual, she wore nothing but a tank top and short shorts, hardly trying to mask her inherent sexuality.

Both of them shrieked and dashed to hug Sora, even though she had only been gone a week. Clara was crying by the time she extracted her head from Sora's shoulder, although she got the feeling the tears weren't quite real and that Clara was simply trying to drum up attention. Whatever the case was, she was glad to have her friend group back together.

"Dude, you missed so much!" Clara squealed excitedly, whipping her phone out of her handbag as she did so. "I have to text Laura and bring her over-"

"No, _not _Laura," Arianna groaned, rolling her eyes. "You remember that spat we had? You know we're still not on good terms."

"I _knoooooow_," Clara grumbled, putting her phone back. "I thought...it might've been a good idea..."

"Snap Lexi and get her over here, she's been wanting to meet us," Arianna said. "And Sora, you're bringing a friend too, right?"

"Yeah, you won't know her," Sora warned.

"That's fine, we'd love to meet her!" Arianna exclaimed, smiling again. She was in a constant contest with Clara to see who could smile the brightest; they were both true optimists, or at least able to throw a perfect happy face on when required.

"What's her name?" Arianna asked.

"Yu Jin Kim. She was, uh...a friend of mine, when we were inside." The topic of the simulation was still a touchy one to bring up. Arianna frowned visibly when it was mentioned.

"Oh, right," she said. "Ah...Emiko won't be over tonight, unfortunately. You didn't hear, did you?"

"Hear?"

"Dwight was found dead, like, three days ago. She's been pretty beat up about it. They were a really cute couple, always out doing cute things together. It's a shame, really," Arianna explained. Dwight Hampstead had been Emiko's supposedly _perfect _boyfriend, and Emiko and Arianna were pretty tight. The death of Dwight would have been a blow to Emi, who had always been a little emotionally fragile. He had died at the hands of the Xonos Mallistron's rampaging phalanx when Crestan had fallen, although poor Emiko would have no way of knowing that; for all she knew, he had simply expired and she was bereft of a lover.

"Oh...I…"

"We're trying not to think about it," Rosie interjected. "It's just...it's not a good thing to think about."

"Being positive, optimistic, y'know?" Arianna added, smiling once again. "Emi will be fine. We're glad you're here, we really are!"

There was a brief, pained silence after that that clearly delivered everyone's discomfort. Rosie, still looking at her phone, coughed quietly, and then the doorbell from upstairs shattered the placidity.

"Your friend?" Arianna asked, smiling again now.

"Won't be Lexi, not yet," Sora mused. "So yes."

Yu Jin would probably feel a little uncomfortable, arriving at such a strange house in a strange neighborhood. Sora went back up the stairs with Arianna, intending to introduce shy little Yu Jin to the unusual world of the rich-yet-not-quite-famous.

"You're Yu Jin, yes!?" Arianna exclaimed, putting on quite a show to impress the newcomer. Yu Jin nodded affirmatively, her cheeks blushing furiously as she was hauled into the abode by the overeager host. Sora smiled widely at her, happy that she had come.

"It's, ah, a nice house!" Yu Jin complimented her, glassy eyes darting back and forth from windows to furniture to carpeting. Everything was so chic to her, more used to cluttered apartments and modular housing.

"Awww, thank you, you're so sweet!" Arianna chimed, leading them back down to the basement.

"It was a little difficult to find the place-"

"No, no, sweetie, that's fine! Sorry you had trouble!" Arianna exclaimed. "Have you met any of Sora's friends?"

"Haven't had time to introduce her yet," Sora said meekly.

"It's fine, no worries," Arianna dismissed. "We've got the entire evening to just spend time together…"

It would take some time for their other friend to arrive, so Arianna decided to set out her "party favors" now rather than wait for it later. To the delight of the overeager Clara, the favors included flavored vodka and other assorted spirits, Sora's favorite brand of popcorn, and, of course, Seattle's favorite local plant.

"It's hydroponic, by the way," Arianna introduced, pulling her baggie out of her purse. "Makes it sound fancier."

"So, who gives a fuck what it is?" Clara wondered aloud, shrugging. "Weed's weed. Don't hold back on it."

"Give me a moment, damn," Arianna swore, struggling with her baggie. "You be patient."

"My parents have been watching me too closely," Clara grumbled, accepting her share of the pot. "Can't wait till I move out to college, they can't touch me on the other side of the country."

"Yeah, I hear ya there," said Arianna. "Just another year. Take care with lighting it."

Clara and Arianna headed over to one of the windows to smoke, leaving the other three to wait for a minute until the chiefers were finished with their handiwork.

"There have been a few people gone missing. Arianna didn't tell you about the others," Rosie informed Sora off-handedly.

"Did I know them?"

"No, not hardly, they were from the highschool but other classes. I knew one of the guys," Rosie said. "He said he always wanted to be a soldier. I can guess how he died."

"Let's...avoid that topic, if we can," Sora asked, feeling her gut tighten.

"Which topic?" Arianna asked, butting in. She seemed more alive now, if that were possible; bouncier, happier, imbued with fresh energy.

"I was telling her about-"

"How the hell did you make it out of there alive?" Clara interjected enthusiastically, expecting a grand story. When Sora frowned at her, she retracted her previous comment, realizing that it may have been a traumatic event.

"Don't talk about it if you don't want to," Arianna said. "We don't need the details or nothing. We're just, well, curious?"

"Oh, and who was the boy you went with?" Clara asked, again out of the blue. Ever the impune inquisitor, she always asked the questions about the boys, being quite curious and adventurous herself. Her eyes gleamed in the warm lighting of the basement, and she expected quite a tale.

"You know...Matt Cook?"

"I've seen him a few times. He looked like your average kid, not that that's a bad thing," Arianna said dismissively.

"I thought he wasn't bad looking, honestly," Clara admitted, shrugging when Arianna turned questioning eyes to her. Her taste in boys had always been rather questionable; again, hook-ups were her kind of thing. Sora had been worried about her for a solid two years, having seen her wasted pretty much every weekend.

"Well, that was him," said Sora.

"Is that all? You've been in there with him for months, haven't you?" Clara inquired further.

"What are you trying to get out of her?" Arianna asked, squinting suspiciously at Clara.

"I'm really just curious, honestly," Clara defended herself, and Rosie surprisingly chimed in to the affirmative. Sora had to remember that her friends, separated from the simulation and completely absorbed by the normal world of school, saw it as some sort of exotic "other" dimension - which, she supposed, was not _untrue_. But she had come to Earth to escape it.

"I mean...he's been with me for a while. We ended up living in the same building, and when we had to leave our village, we traveled together-"

"I'm not interested in all of that," Clara dismissed her, but she was clearly making Sora unhappy. She stopped interjecting and let Sora tell her story - interspersed with falsities and exaggerated details, it would be called out upon closer inspection but for now it kept the other girls enthralled. Yu Jin sat there silently, listening with interest to a tale she was far too familiar with.

"So, what is he to you, then?" Rosie inquired, the first one to speak up when Sora had reached the end of her tale. In spite of all the incredulous events she had detailed for them, they did not question her at all; Clara looked almost shocked, mouth agape and eyes dilated and reddened by the effects of the marijuana.

"He's...a close friend, I suppose-"

"I'd say otherwise," Rosie said.

"I asked him to prom as a friend, and nothing more," Sora corrected her. "I...I don't know _quite _how I feel, really, but is it really the time to sort those things out?"

"What better time, to be honest?" Rosie asked. "He seems like a really good guy, and he sounds interesting. I think you care about him, and if you do, then why not make a move?"

"He sounds like a good catch to me," Clara added.

"That's really objectifying him, don't you think?" Arianna asked, putting her pipe to her lips again. She was no longer concerned about the dissolution of the smell, and made no move for the open window.

"Just my opinion," Clara said. "I mean-"

"We know what you mean," Rosie shut her down. "I'm serious, though. You could do great with him, given what you've told us. What are you waiting for?"

"More time, maybe," Sora said, feeling pressured for a solid answer. "I...these things take time, you know!"

"I understand," Rosie said. "I'm just curious...like I actually want to know about him. He sounds like an interesting person, just from what you've told us. I barely know him, anyway."

Rosie, ever the quiet girl, was fairly intrigued by Sora's relationship and was being totally honest. That was a fairly outstanding trait of hers - if she wanted to know more about something, she would become totally engaged with it. Clara was likely just concerned about whether or not Sora planned on sleeping with Matt; she was like that whenever anyone got wrapped up with another guy. _Borderline nymphomaniac_, Sora had oft described her to other friends. She didn't mean that in a nasty way, but it seemed to be a near truth.

"He's kind of stuck, unfortunately," said Sora. "I mean...he can't be here."

"What do you mean, stuck?" Rosie inquired, for clarification.

"He...he can't come home. It's impossible."

There was an awkward pause in the room after that. Everyone was fairly uncomfortable.

"Sora, I'm sorry about that," Arianna apologized, sounding frank. "Let's...let's not discuss it any further, if you don't want to."

"It's alright, I didn't mean to get, ah-"

"I understand," said Arianna, hugging her shoulder for comfort. "But we're here to have fun. So let's not focus on the bad things, huh?"

Sora agreed on that point, and decided to forget the matter of Matt for now. He would be alright, right? He'd survive without her...for another week or two? Maybe?

Sora had never been a drinker, but she was more than happy to share in the vice when Clara opened a fresh bottle, intending to waste herself just for fun. They passed the next hour sharing drinks, taking shots and talking amongst each other like they used to, forgetting the tribulations of the past week - for Sora, the past several months. At some point during that hour, Alexis showed up, fashionably late as always but eager to join in the little festivities.

"Are you doing alright?" Sora asked Yu Jin later, during a lull in the activity.

"What do you mean? I'm feeling fine, yeah," Yu Jin replied, confused.

"I mean, are you comfortable?" Sora reiterated.

"I'm not awkward, Sora," Yu Jin reassured her, smirking. "Are you kidding? I'm doing just fine. I like your friends, even if they do seem a bit...touchy."

"That's normal for Clara," Sora sighed, rolling her eyes. She was trying to ask questions about Matt again, too - she was ever curious about such affairs, even worse when she had been drinking.

"Are we staying over, though?" Yu Jin asked.

"We were planning on it. Or, I was," said Sora. The prospect of spending the night here was a little daunting, seeing as she'd been away from home for what felt like forever and wouldn't mind going back - her parents would be pretty upset about this, too - but she wanted to spend as much time as possible with her friends.

Cards Against Humanity eventually came out and the ice between Yu Jin and her new friends melted once a casual air was assumed. Arianna's parents were, presumably, unaware of the minutia of the party, and had already gone to bed now that it was pretty late. The girls were left to their own machinations, enjoying each other's company in the little basement corner. Clara eventually got rather embarrassingly drunk and had to be prepped for bed by Arianna, who didn't appear the least bit fazed by the incident.

"She's like this every party we go to," Arianna explained to Yu Jin as the latter looked on rather awkwardly. "Luckily there's no guys here."

"I don't fuck _every _guy," Clara grumbled, rolling over as she lay on the floor, her face rather pale and her pupils enormous. "Just the real cute ones."

"When you're drunk, they're all cute to you," Arianna groaned, rolling her eyes. "I'll...I'll get her to bed, I guess."

"You mind if we stay the night?"

"Not at all! I figured you would, and I doubt my parents really give a shit," Arianna said, shrugging.

"Can we all sleep together?" Clara asked excitedly, shooting up from her resting place on the floor. When her alcohol-influenced decision was quickly shot down, she fell back and began to groan again, wondering aloud if they had time to go out dancing. She was ignored as the others prepared for sleep.

"How do you feel about Matt?" asked Yu Jin as she made her way upstairs with Sora.

"I...I said al-"

"It didn't sound like a good answer," Yu Jin said. "Can you at least tell me? I'll keep it confidential, I promise."

"I can try." Sora led her to the washroom, talking to her on the way. The music had stopped downstairs and, presumably, the other girls were heading to bed too. "He's a strange kind of guy. I've had feelings for other guys before, but he...he is different. I think it's the setting that I got to know him in, you know?"

"I'm not sure I follow," Yu Jin admitted.

"Very different from high school," explained Sora. "He was always a clown in high school, and a funny guy, but I didn't really _know _him, right? And once we got to that...feudal society, that different atmosphere, that's when I got to know him. I think that really forced him to show his true colors."

"In a good way or a bad way?" Yu Jin asked.

"I'm not sure yet," she replied, with a sly smile. "But...I feel like he's a good guy, deep down."

"Everyone has their flaws," Yu Jin echoed.

"Precisely," said Sora. "And that's why I tend to excuse him. He's a little troubled, and I'm afraid he'll become dependent on alcohol, but he's not a _bad _guy, y'know?"

"So...how do you feel about him? Like, uh...relationship-wise?" Yu Jin asked, treading over the question carefully.

"I haven't figured that out yet. I try to dodge that question more often than not," Sora admitted, smiling weakly. She paused to brush her teeth, intent on ensuring that she received a decent cleaning before having to return to the pod. Over the week she had been dormant within her own mind, her body had been uncared for.

"Do you love him?" Yu Jin asked.

Sora had to think a bit about that. Such a tricky question, the question of romance and attraction - a dangerous query, too.

"I...in a way, I do."

"Haven't figured it out yet?"

"Not yet," Sora said. "He's a beautiful boy. I've fantasized about him in a few ways, but I don't know what I really _want _from him. I want to kiss him, I want to be friends with him, I've wondered what it's like to suck his dick, but...nothing has come of any of that. It's vague? That's how I would describe it. Vague and confusing."

"Give yourself some time," Yu Jin advised, holding her hand in a friendly manner. "You've got to find what's right for you."

"It's not easy." Sora smiled awkwardly. "I will have to do some hard thinking. The trouble is, I don't know if I have much time for that."

"You've got tonight," Yu Jin said.

"Whole lotta time that is," Sora sneered sarcastically, cleaning her toothbrush. "Maybe he'll make the move on me. I've always wanted to see what he could do."

"I think you two are cute together. Just my opinion,"

"Hmmm. Well, maybe to _you_," Sora said with a devilish smile. "I'm not so sure myself."

"I know, I understand," Yu Jin replied. "I hope you don't feel uncomfortable talking to me about it-"

"Not at all, love, not at all," Sora assuaged her kindly. "I...well, you're the only girl I can confide in back there. It's...comforting, to have you around."

Yu Jin smiled brightly at that, and Sora could tell that the comment had really warmed her heart. Truly, it was comforting to have the young girl around the house, especially when Sarah had become so dour and Lana had become an enemy, but was it wise to tell her so much? What if Lana Valdez had paid _her_, paid her to accrue herself to Sora and lap up as many dirty secrets as possible to be used as ammunition for a later date? The sudden thought frightened Sora, and she expelled it from her mind, wanting no time spent thinking about Lana when she was surrounded by trustworthy friends.

Yu Jin was a _friend_, and she would stay that way. There was nothing sinister about a girl who could smile as brightly as she could, right?

VVVVV

Dr. Liam Caldwell stepped out of his boat and savored the feel of terra firma under his boots. Even upon the Great River, which was relatively calm, he had found himself seasick more often than not, his body untuned to the flow of water. He was happy to finally have arrived at his destination, after a few days of unexpected delay.

Dressed in nothing but digital camouflage pants, plain shirts and military boots, his fighters filed out after him, exiting the transport boats and dragging their gear out with them. Armed with combat-grade compact carbines and heavy assault rifles, they trooped out and established a landing zone for the heavier gear and the fuel, which would be necessary for the operations that the Ditch had requested. With luck, the resupply ships would not experience any sort of delays in arrival; they would have to be punctual. They _had _to be.

His troops, about four hundred in number, were directly under his command and had to be given orders directly from him. Even the lieutenants, assigned by his hand, had only a loose amount of control over their soldiers; being their employer, Liam was the one who ultimately commanded them. His word preempted every other, and that was what had brought them all the way to this side of the world - that, and the promise of great pay.

And what had brought him here? A debt he owed to an old friend. A _very _old friend. He pulled the letter out of his pocket and looked it over again, his eyes hovering on the ever familiar stationary and signature at the bottom. He smiled at the name, regretful that he had missed Leon due to his delay.

He turned back to the ship to help his officers with the disembarkment as the whirring of blades drowned out the sounds of humanity and his four scout helicopters rose over the landing zone.

VVVVV

Kleiner, flanked by his captains, watched the convoy pass. The skeletons, reanimated yet uniquely lifeless, were the ones pushing the carts and bearing the heavy loads, whose contents remained unknown. The wagons were pulled by unarmored and unarmed skeletons, marked out as manual labor apparently, and a few of the unusual hellions carried long planks of wood over their osseous shoulders. Some of the escorts were pigmen, grotesque and bizarre bipedal beings with twisted, mangled faces and toothy snouts, their dead eyes staring directly ahead as they marched in formation. Several dozen skeletons, bearing cruel iron weapons and bedecked in rusty black armor, marched with them as well in perfect rank and file, unswerving and unwavering in their diligent organization. They weren't paying attention either, like their porcine comrades; the convoy was unaware that they were being surveilled, and were marching straight into a warm-blooded ambush. Kleiner's plan would bear ripe fruit if everything went well.

_We counted at least three hundred per convoy, maybe more._

Cobb's words rang in his head as he waited for the signal. Over the past few days, the head engineer (as well as field commander, due to the desperate lack of trained officers) had been scouting the dead side of the river, keeping tabs on enemy movement. It was evident and probable that these large supply convoys, utilizing the dirt trails that served as paltry roads, were preparing for the inevitable siege and assault of the city that was designed to finally crush the defenders. Whatever was being borne in those crates and within those great wagons would bear nefarious fruit for the enemy, and had to be stymied in order to give the city a fighting chance in the frosty months to come. Having received Cobb's reports, Kleiner had decided on something drastic, rolling the dice in hopes of landing a lucky strike and perhaps even making an impression on the undead foe.

The Illyushech, the brave lightman, sat next to him, crouched down in the brambles that obscured the ambush force. He appeared human, besides his milky skin and pupil-less eyes, but it was clear he was of another race. His power, some sort of ancient magic conjured by means unknown to mortal men, was the key to their success in every skirmish, every ambush, every struggle; without the lightmen, the city would have certainly fallen by now. Now Kleiner was down to two, and they played an increasingly crucial role in stymying the tide of undead pouring in to reinforce the enemy camp sitting five miles east of the crossing.

"_You see the coffins?"_ askedthe lightman, whispering breathily to avoid being spotted.

"Yeah, I see 'em," Kleiner replied, watching them carefully. Towards the middle of the column, there were great ivory coffins being borne on their own carts, individually. Archaic markings had been etched on their facades, and they were bound by some strange chains, the likes of which Kleiner had never seen before - black, dull, and sharp looking. These coffins were heavily guarded, too, by armored automatons bearing menacing halberds in their bony hands. "_Something's in them. Something important. I would take those,"_ the lightman suggested.

"One minute more," Kleiner hissed, gritting his teeth. This had to be executed perfectly. They had to overwhelm the enemy in the initial ambush, or their timing would be for naught. If the enemy could recover from the onslaught, they would be able to inflict casualties and perhaps even force Kleiner's little ambush party back. That wouldn't be allowed to happen.

"You know your role?" Kleiner asked, turning back to his partner.

"_Take them through the middle. Cleave them in two,_" the lightman responded, having rehearsed the plan over and over again. They had been plotting this out for days, ever since Cobb's refined reports had come in.

"My men will do what they can. Crossbows will hit the pigmen," Kleiner reminded him.

"_Remember, the head is the weak point of the undead. That is the homunculus_," the lightman said. The skeletons could not be harmed unless incinerated, completely destroyed, or decapitated; a hammer blow to the skull would also suffice, crushing the bone and reaping the unholy shadow of false life from them.

"They know. They've been trained for this," Kleiner replied.

"_A few will die._"

"I am aware."

There was no more time for chatter. The moment was at hand. Kleiner heard the rustling in the bushes on the other side of the road, and with a battle cry thirty men armed with mauls, clubs and bats rushed down into the column, taking it from the side and knocking the surprised skeletons over. At the moment they engaged the Illyushech rose and, extending his pale white arm serenely and calmly, swept the skeletons on his side of the road away with nothing but a flick of his bony index finger. The enemy were tossed off the ground, and more of their comrades followed - a brilliant flash of light, the hiss of burning air, and within seconds bones and pieces of armor were being hurtled into the dead, ashen air. Kleiner's men dashed from their positions, rushing down into the fray as the lightman calmly and collectedly followed them, firing bolts of pure light at skeletons who were rushing to protect their supply train.

Kleiner himself rushed down into action, being a rather active leader of men; passivity was not in his blood, not any longer, and the days of being an armchair commander were long past. Warhammer in hand, he dashed into the fray, sticking close to the lightman and his near aura of invincibility.

All along the line the undead were being crushed, surprised by the attack and devastated by the Illyushech, who dispatched them as if they were nothing but autumn leaves. The pigmen were putting up the most resistance, pulling together and forming a tight _porcupine _formation to ward off any potential attackers and slay those who got too close. After a few desperate squeals and angry grunts from their commander, who had decorated his brow with chunks of bone glued together, the common soldiers pulled back and circled up, lowering spears and longblades to form the aforementioned porcupine. Unfortunately for them, Kleiner's crossbowmen found them to be easy targets - packed together like sardines, they fell one by one to crossbow bolts as they desperately tried to fend off and deflect attacks from their human enemies.

Kleiner, still focused intently on the coffins, remained with his lightman, bringing down one of the skeletal figures as it raised its sickle to strike him. The enemy column had been devastated during the attack, and within another thirty seconds the enemy porcupine had been broken by the hail of crossbow bolts, its survivors scrambling over fallen allies to retreat. It was almost perfect, _almost _perfect, but luck was not on the side of the living that day. For the lightman, dashing his opponents to pieces as they retreated and left the coffins behind, did not see the skeleton on the ground reach out for his leg and snatch it. The pale figure went down to the ground instantly.

Before Kleiner could react, the impish monstrosity had buried its hatchet into the back of the Illyushechka's neck, striking him at the top of the spine. The lightman had been extinguished, his light instantly removed, and within another second the skeleton was extinguished, its skull crushed by a blow from Kleiner's great iron hammer. The loss had been dealt, though; Kleiner had rolled the dice, and in the end he had suffered. Kleiner was at a loss for words for a moment, and the battlefield fell eerily silent as the combat came to a halt, the bloodshed now completed. He looked around, forcing himself to gaze at the grisly scene.

The convoy had been crushed, and the few remaining fighters were being destroyed where they stood. Here and there lay the bodies of a few leather-clad humans, struck by lucky blows, and there at his feet lay the lifeless body of his comrade, milky, steaming blood coagulating on the back of his neck and running upon the ashy ground, thick as molasses. Kleiner wanted to swear, but he had nobody or nothing to curse, except for those damned coffins. As his followers looted the supply convoy and retrieved their fallen men, Kleiner strode over to the coffins with determination, and smash the chains off of the first one he could reach, exposing its contents.

Within was something that escaped description, and twisted his stomach into a sickeningly tight knot. He was absolutely disgusted with what he saw, the wretched form that lay dormant within, and he wanted nothing to do with it - whether or not it could be used to their advantage. Cursing violently, he threw the clapboard cover back on, hiding the nefarious spawn from the sight of weaker men, and ordered it to be burned. None of them dared to look inside the coffins, lest they find their eyes defiled by the slimey aberration that slept within its foul confines.

He was now down to one. His light was slowly, agonizingly being extinguished.

VVVVV

Sixty-two men ascended the face of the mountain as they passed through the topmost tier of Dwerhold and arrived at the overhang that would serve as their introduction to the caverns within.

Anoth, ever the adventurous leader, was at the head of the column as it wended its way up the stone ramp to the overhang, whereupon stood a few guard shacks and a watch tower, the highest buildings in the entire city. Rikken and Iben, now subordinates to him, were a bit farther back, struggling to keep up with their burly, fur-clad leader. Most of the team members, Will and Aeric among them, had been consigned to leading the teams of horses up to the overhang, where they would deploy and unpack their gear in preparation for the expedition within.

"Any doubts still over on your side?" Aeric asked Will as the great door, carved out of the very stone of the mountain, made itself visible at the top of the incline.

"Not anymore," Will replied. Perhaps a few, but he forced them into a corner at the back of his head and ignored their cries. He had been thoroughly convinced that, if this was not going to be a profitable expedition, it would at least be exciting. Dwerhold was starting to feel a bit like home, anyway; he loved the markets here, even if the people could be less than savory and at times downright hostile.

"Are you sure, Will?"

"Thanks for double checking with me," Will said , smiling at his partner. "But I'm good. It's a bit late to turn back, anyway."

They were on the overhang now, before the great door. The mouth of the mountain, chiseled out of the severe granite, beckoned them into its depths, and although Will felt the pangs of anxiety rumble in his gullet, he resisted the urge to say anything more. Aeric was excited for this, and so was he to a degree.

The words above the doorway were clear, their form somehow escaping the ruin of weather and time to declare their _promise _to each traveler wishing to enter:

"_One finds himself at the door to another world. This austere abode, the stronghold of men below the earth, will deliver unto you what you deserve. Seek what you wish to seek, but remember the promise: whoever enters this lonely place must yield one of theirs to leave freely, or else will yield all."_

Will felt the chills lance down his spine as he read the promise over and over again: of their party, they had sixty-two. He had a one-in-sixty-two chance, precisely, of never returning from the caves below, and even that was enough to give him shivers. But no turning back now, like he said; they had paused briefly, if only to acquire passage into the mountain from the shabby little police force that guarded the doorway.

"We'll be decamping at the base camp briefly before heading in," Rikken spoke as he turned to the rest of the column, projecting his voice so all could hear.

When the all-clear had been given, and the guards protecting the entry to the underneath parted, the column continued forward into a makeshift stable, where their horses were tacked and stabled with dozens of others. There was some currency exchange and document signing to be done, but after such business was completed the brave sixty-two - bearing lanterns, backpacks stuffed with supplies, and small caskets of pine oil - descended into the darkness of Dwer.

The base camp was about two hundred feet into the mountain, established in a large, clean cavern with a water source near the eastern wall. Three dozen hide and cloth tents had been set up around a cluster of small wooden shacks, with campfires interspersed between the tents. Close to a hundred grimy, greasy, quiet men gathered around the fires, cooking their breakfasts and preparing for the day's adventures. A few men gathered buckets of water for drinking and laundry, and a few others were stowing their tents and belongings and preparing for an expedition into the subterranean ruins.

The wooden shacks appeared to be administrative buildings of a sort, where the organizers for the base camp lived and worked. Weaponry was stowed within one of them, and another appeared to be used for communal gatherings and meetings. The third and last seemed to be living quarters for these organizers, who spent almost all of their time in the cave. The operation was clearly a very well established one, and the overseers apparently had good connections within the city that allowed them to solve any administrative problems that came up, as well as receive free food and necessities to provide for the spelunkers.

"We make for the metal foundries from here," Anoth barked as the group gathered at the front end of the camp. "There's gold and silver to be found there, if you get lucky. It's possible we'll be mapping new turf."

"Do we have cartography equipment?" asked Rikken, appearing concerned all of a sudden. Will knew why; the mere idea of charting new passages in such a large underground structure was quite unnerving.

"We have paper and graphite," Anoth said, "that will be enough. I don't expect us to go too far if we hit anything new. We're not quite equipped for that." Will could see some of the members of the party, most of them younger men, looking rather uneasy now that they had entered and passed over the threshold. Personally, the promise was bothering him more than anything else, and the words cycled through his head as he shifted the pack on his shoulders and proceeded after Ibin, himself following Anoth into the midst of the camp.

They ate breakfast with the campers there, who were about a hundred in total. Sausages were split, bread was broken, and bowls of steaming porridge were devoured voraciously as men took their seats at campfires and engaged in casual conversation with one another.

"Porridge is warm and the ale is hearty. It's better than whatever grub you'll be packing down there," a grizzled, monocular, leather-clad man said as he sat down with Will, Aeric, Ibin, and a few campers. "You look young. First-timers?"

"They are," said Ibin, pointing to the two youths. "I've been on the first level before, and I've seen a few ruins. Almost went to Paolor's Hand, once."

"Nothing an old bastard like me hasn't seen," the man said with a laugh. "Dwer's pretty much home for me. It'll be an experience, I can tell you two that."

They ate for a solid minute, spooning warm goop into their mouths and crunching on crusty bread, before the old man turned to Ibin.

"What did you come to Dwer for? Your first time, that is."

"I was doing a cartography project," explained Ibin, "after I met this guy when I delved into Squalor Cave. He was being paid to do some mapping on the first level, in an area that had just been discovered, and since we kept contact he sent me a letter and invited me to Dwerhold for the expedition This was...oh, some five years ago, before the whole shitstorm down south."

"And how did it go?" the man asked.

"Smooth as butter, really," Ibin replied. "Nothing big went wrong, we only lost one guy when he hit his head and bled to death, and we got paid handsomely. Pretty successful, I'd say." He shrugged.

"Aye, that's the promise for you," muttered one of the other men at the campfire.

"Oh, come now-"

"It's just words, friend, but I believe them's powerful words," the old man hushed his other comrade, who had been provoked to reaction. "Let's not get into this argument, though. It's a matter of belief. I've had it plenty of times, and I'd rather not have it again."

"Well, I like to think it was an accident," said Ibin.

"Could've been," the old man agreed. "Could've been something more. You just really don't know."

"How many times have you been down there, then?" Ibin inquired. Will, finishing his porridge, continued to listen to them with interest. Aeric looked a little unnerved, but he listened intently as well.

"This is my thirteenth time passing that door," the old man replied, grinning devilishly. "Death has yet to take me. The furthest I've been is the old mines at the bottom. I never went into the tombs or caverns."

"Been to the Choir, then?" Ibin asked. The old man gave suspicious pause to this, narrowing his eyes a little, and his tone became firmer.

"I have not. I had no interest in going there, I will say," he replied after a pensive halt.

"I was just curious," Ibin apologized, picking up on the tone. "Sorry if that's...a touchy subject-"

"Well, what're you here for now? You lot brought a big company with ya," the man changed the subject right quick. His two comrades began heartily discussing their own plans, having finished their breakfast.

"Foundries is the plan," said Ibin. "Pretty easy, I'm sure, and there's a good chance we can find gold and silver, eh?"

"Not unless you go farther back. There's storerooms still unexplored, but you'll have to press hard to get back there," the old man cautioned, shaking his head. "You're a treasure hunter, I take it. Not an explorer?"

"I'd say I'm both, honestly," Ibin replied with a smile. "Treasure's out there, and there's no word nor sword that will stop us. Especially not words." He smiled again, grinning gleefully at his conversation partner. The old man, however, frowned at him but did not pursue the topic, and finished his porridge rather quickly. Ibin was called away momentarily afterwards, and Will and Aeric were left to finish their bread as the other men rejoined their older comrade.

"Bloody scavengers. Put a bad name to our trade, I say," the old man grumbled, apparently forgetting Will and Aeric were sitting right beside him, silent and grim. The conversation they had witnessed had been tense at best, and Will felt as though Ibin had been grossly unaware of some sort of danger the old man had been trying to warn him about. And what exactly was the Choir? It had come up in their conversation, but the monocular man had refused to discuss it when pressed.

"This Anoth, I'm familiar with him. He's a pretty experienced sort," said his comrade.

"What is that supposed to mean?" the old man asked.

"He...he knows what he's going into. But I don't think he's heard the recent shit, unless he's being filled in right now."

"It won't dissuade him, probably. Treasure hunters won't be moved by what they consider 'fairy tales', augh," the old man grumbled. "It will cost them much."

"I think he's got the good sense to turn back," argued the other. "Anoth's a smart man."

"His followers are not, if this one is anything to judge by," the man scowled, before turning to Will and Aeric. He had not forgotten about them. "No offense to you, boys, of course. Are you enjoying your breakfast?"

His startling query surprised Will and he struggled to reply. The tone of the question had been a little menacing, and Will could sense distrust and suspicion in it. The grizzled veteran did not trust Ibin, and he did not trust the two youths either, even if they were just naive young boys who knew nothing of adventuring or fairy tales. A knot formed in his throat and Aeric had to answer in his stead, leaping into the conversation.

"It's better than what we had on the road," he said, "nothing but hard cheese and old bread while traveling. It was a long journey here, and we're glad for the hospitality."

The old man smiled warmly at them after that, his hostility melting like ice under the warm caress of sunlight. "Well, I'm glad you appreciate it. We do appreciate you entering the profession, if you're in it for more than just treasure. There's a lot to be learned from exiting your comfort zone and exploring the world around you," he said. It was clear he still had some reservations about the newcomers, but was trying his best to act pleasant with the most inexperienced of them.

"Well, of course we're not here for the treasure!" Aeric exclaimed, trying to erase any hostilities. "I've heard so much about the ruins and it sounds like it's a beautiful place. We're here to see it and learn what we can."

The old man smiled again, clearly convinced, but it faded rather quickly, replaced with a thin frown. Not necessarily a frown of disapproval, but rather one of anxiety, as if he suddenly felt concern.

"Just take care of yourselves," he asked them, his tone more grave now. "Darkness can be dangerous."

Aeric promised. The man turned away from them and back to his comrades. Will could catch snippets of their conversation, but it was not enough to give him the full story. What he heard, however, gave him shivers, and after a minute he had to stand up and leave the campfire, weary of their hushed conversation and feeling a little upset.

"Thompson's team never came back, someone said," one of the hushed voices related, the voice thick with concern. "They were down in the foundries, too. Far back, but they hadn't gone to an unexplored branch."

"What you think it was?" the old man inquired, his query troubled.

"No one knows. Nobody can tell, that's the problem!" the man whispered fiercely, and his comrades hushed him furiously. That was all Will could catch, and he related it to Aeric when they left the circumference of the firepit.

"I don't understand," Aeric said when Will finished.

"It seems weird to me, it does," Will said, pursing his lips. "If it's true…"

"I'm sure it's nothing, Will. Could just be a scary story told around the fire, you know how that goes," Aeric assuaged him. The comforting words did little to numb the tingling fright congealing in his throat, giving him pause.

They rejoined their group, most of whom were emerging from the cluster of hovels at the center of the clearing and preparing their gear. Many of them had withdrawn lanterns from their packs, small portable light sources that would be fueled by the pine oil they had carried up the mountain. With luck and a little strategic rationing, their supply would last a week and a half, giving them plenty of time.

Everyone followed Anoth as he led the way. Now revitalized and fed, the men appeared eager and excited for the start of their descent. In pairs, side by side, they marched towards the small aperture that admitted them into the _real _ruins. It was only after squeezing through that door, Aeric beside him, that Will could truly appreciate the depths they were about to plumb.

Dwer was like nothing he had ever seen before. They walked just a few feet before stepping out onto a wide ledge, one that could fit at least three men abreast. Looking up, he could see a vast expanse of stone ceiling, with mighty stalactites gripping the moist surface of the roof and peering down into the abyss. Leaning over the edge, he could see the great expanse of the city, spiraling down beneath him. Just as Anoth described, the walkway they stood on followed a spiral pattern as it descended into the depths of the great stone, its terminus probably a thousand feet below him. Along the walls, buildings and gates had been carved out of the stone, providing one access to the city whose streets and alleyways branched out into the mountain, disappearing into uncharted darkness or terminating when its excavators had ceased their travail. He could see houses built into the cliffs overlooking the spiral, and great gates decorated with inscriptions and pictographs carved out of the rock, beckoning one into their cavernous holds. There were a few isolated lights bobbing in the dimness below, where other spelunkers illuminated the spiral walkway, but otherwise the city was without light, without life. Truly a ruin.

Will felt Aeric's hand squeeze his, and knew his companion was gazing down into the abyss with the same tinge of wonder and terror Will felt. Even Swampheart, with its great ramparts and mighty ravines, could not match Dwer in terms of beauty and glory - the mountain city itself, Dwerhold, could be rivaled by the ruins it was built up against.

"The foundries are on the Second Level. With luck, we'll have easy going until we get there. It's perhaps two hundred feet down and a mile to the east," Anoth announced, charting their course.

"An entire mile!?" Aeric whispered in disbelief.

"These passages extend far further than that," Ibin informed him as he passed by. "Be thankful it's only a mile."

The first members of the convoy began descending, taking the soft incline of the walkway down as they entered Dwer's auspices. Will and Aeric followed, taking uneasy steps as they plodded further and further away from the light of day and the welcoming campfires of the entryway. Their footsteps echoed off of the damp, clammy rock as they followed the rest of the team. Lanterns were being refilled, candles were lit, and bundles were hafted onto sturdy backs as the entire group descended, allowing themselves to be swallowed by the mouth of the earth.

The homes were empty and desolate, their furniture and trappings long eaten away by time and moisture and their inhabitants dead for millennia. All that remained within them was dust and darkness; peering through a hundred windows and a hundred doors, Will could see nothing but empty abodes and lost memories, lifeless shells carved out of the rock and forgotten by all, even those who passed by them on their hunt for fortune.

They reached the second level after about five minutes of walking, a rather easy journey. However, as Ibin had warned before, they had a long walk ahead of them, now marching horizontally; they were going further into the mountain range, and perhaps further down if they were unfortunate. They passed under one of the great gates, beckoned into its maw of darkness by the faintest hint of profit within. Passing under the great stone arch overhead, decorated with carvings of ancient lords and retainers long dispersed into dust, Will felt a cold shiver travel down his spine and lance out, like roots, into the small of his back. Why did he feel so nervous about this place? He had never been in a real cave, nothing more than the large storage rooms below the Rose Leader's palace back in Swampheart. Perhaps it was the anxiety of his first spelunking expedition, and the deprivation of any light beyond the pale glows of each man's lantern or candle.

"Have you ever seen anything like this!?" Aeric exclaimed, raising his own lantern higher to shine its light onto the smooth ceiling twenty feet above.

"I can't say I have," Will admitted, his mouth dry.

They walked along some sort of boulevard, traversing what appeared to be a commercial area by the looks of it. Great open spaces were surrounded by squat, rectangular buildings with wide doors and no windows, their interiors unlit and menacingly dark. Once upon a time, in a more lively era, these great souqs would have been bustling with people purchasing and selling, poring over excruciatingly boring minutia to eke out the greatest profits. Now they were silent, and the only sounds audible were the footsteps of sixty-two men plodding down the stone avenue.

"It will be a mile to the foundries," Anoth informed the group. "There's supposed to be another group there, apparently, twenty-five in all." His voice boomed, reverberating off the walls and ceiling.

"We're one of the largest, aren't we?" someone up ahead inquired.

"At least for now. Most of the boys were holed up back there," Anoth grumbled. "Scared young striplings."

"Well, that's their loss, then," someone joked, and a few nervous laughs followed. It was clear that, despite the light of the lanterns, a vast majority of the party were rather uncomfortable now that they had entered the auspices of the hauntingly sterile city. They passed block after block of market squares and outbuildings, all of them eerily abandoned. Only one showed any signs of life, and what remained was trash and refuse from a party that had passed through a few days ago. Was this Thompson's party, the group the men at the fire had been talking about? Will entered an unusual monologue inside his head to keep himself occupied as they hiked into the depths of the mountain.

They reached the Causeway about half an hour later. Anoth had spoken of it earlier, mentioned it when talking to Rikken, but Will was again unprepared for what would lay before him when they entered the giant room. It looked as though someone had taken a box and, thrusting it into the rock, carved out a nearly perfectly rectangular cavern, nearly a hundred feet wide and at least five hundred feet from top to bottom. A lone causeway, barely able to fit a single man abreast, spanned the gap and several flights of chiseled, worn stairs provided one access to the lower levels. There were no upper levels; from here, the only direction was either across, or down, and Anoth was taking them down.

One by one, down the crumbling stone staircase, the group descended, sixty-two lanterns and candles bobbing briskly in the brumal blackness. Someone at the back started to take up a song, and a few others joined, but it died out rather quick. Nobody was quite comfortable, even less so now that they were descending further.

"Ibin, what is the Choir?"

Aeric had asked the question that pulled Will out of his mental fog. He looked forward to see Ibin providing Aeric with a rather puzzled look, as if he did not understand the question.

"Where'd you hear about that?" Ibin asked.

"It was...mentioned, briefly, by some of the guys back at the camp," replied Aeric. He looked back at Will, who provided a weak smile in return. It was all he could manage as he listened intently, waiting for Ibin's answer.

"It's a strange place. I suppose there's no harm in telling you. You-"

"He can visit the Choir if he so wishes," barked Anoth. "Any who want to may, but it's on them. I will not go there." He did not even turn around to face them when he spoke, leading them now down another flight of stairs to take them further into the darkness.

"I can go to the Choir, if you want to join a group," said Ibin after Anoth had finished. "There are always people who want to go. Curiosity claims them."

"But..._what _is it?" Aeric demanded, his answer evading him.

"You'll see for yourself," Ibin promised. "It's...difficult to explain."

Aeric turned around to Will and motioned to him, asking if he wanted to come along. He didn't want to separate from Aeric, and decided against his better judgment to coalesce with the small group Ibin was forming.

"Where can we find you?" Rikken asked after Ibin, along with fourteen others, had decided to branch off.

"Will you meet us back at the Causeway?" asked Ibin.

"We can do that," Rikken replied. "We won't be going far, just trying to get our bearings. And, ah, look for another group." Will noted the tone of worry in his voice, and thought again about the hushed conversation that had been held by the fire earlier.

Ibin led the way a little further before they reached what appeared to be the end of the artificial catacombs of Dwer, and the beginning of an actual cavern. The walls were rough and slick with cold water, and stalactites dangled tentatively from the uncouth ceiling arching above them. This, apparently, was the Choir, according to Ibin.

"It's a pretty damn small place," Ibin answered when Aeric questioned him again, "and it's a weird one too. I can't even try to explain it, really. We'll be there quickly." The other men appeared almost grossly eager to gain access to it, as if the treasure they sought would be lying within. When they entered the main chamber, Will saw no treasure that he could speak of, unless you considered mundane clay to be a _treasure_.

About a thousand clay figurines, all replications of one another, rested in rows upon terraced shelves. The Choir was about fifty feet long, and the shelves spanned the entire length of the room, save for a gap in the middle where a hallway branched to the left and the right, presumably leading to rooms with more figurines. The room was not particularly big, relative to the rest of Dwer, but the mass of tiny moulded figurines was awe-inspiring to those who had not glimpsed them before. Several men rushed in, hurriedly taking to a shelf and poring over the little figures, picking them up and looking at the bottoms before replacing them and picking up the next one in line. Will found himself smirking at the incredulity of the bizarre scene presenting itself to him, but it was quickly wiped from his face.

"This is a room of death. You would be wise to take care here," Ibin warned, noticing his grin.

"Is this it?" asked Will.

"The figurines bear a name and a date on them. Each one is unique to a visitor who passes under the doorway, or so the legend goes. Find yours, and it is said that the date will be that of your death," Ibin explained grimly. He did not take to any figurine, and waited at the edge of the room, as if afraid of crossing the forbidden threshold. Will wasn't smiling anymore. He felt a cold chill rush through his blood as he stepped into the room, following Aeric to one of the shelves. Each little figurine wore a strange smile on its face, its hands folded upon its plump, rotund stomach. They were strangely calming.

Will began searching through each one methodically, a lump in his chest growing tighter with every figurine he studied. They were all the same, besides the names and dates inscribed on the bottoms of each one - at one point, he found Ibin's on one of the lower shelves, and motioned for him to come see.

"I would not look at it," Ibin refused, scowling. "I do not want to know."

Will frowned at him, looked back at the date again, and felt his blood freeze within his veins. He replaced the statuette quickly, wondering if it was possible for their predictions to be incorrect. He was hoping they would be.

He finally found his after a solid half hour of searching. By that time most of the men had finished, none of them appearing particularly satisfied with their findings. Will heard the muffled whispers being exchanged from one to another, and knew there was general displeasure amongst them, but he ignored them as he continued looking, hoping his own figurine would leave him satisfied with his own fate. Finally, on one of the topmost shelves, he found it.

_William Kaldder. 7/22/9849_.

Will felt the knot in his chest melt, dissolving into nothingness. He had forty years to live, if the little predictor was correct, and suddenly he was worry-free. Even if he now knew when his death would come, he knew that his day of reckoning was in the distant future, and that insofar as he did not actively seek out death, that he would be able to live a long life.

Aeric did not look so pleased. When they left the Choir, his face was blanched and he looked perturbed, as if his fate had been marked too near in the future for comfort.

"It...it's just sooner than I'd like," Aeric admitted uncomfortably, taking Will's hand as he did so.

"Would you mind telling?" Will asked.

"I'd rather not," said Aeric. "It's...it's a few years away, nothing to worry about now."

"Eh, who says that it's correct?" Will mused, trying to cheer him up."This may be one big gimmick, huh?"

"I'd like to think that," Aeric said with a weak smile, the color returning to his cheeks a little. "Would you tell me yours?"

"I've got forty years to live," Will replied. "So I'd rather those little things be correct. I'd like to have a long while before I pass on."

"Aha, yeah, that's good for you." Aeric laughed uneasily, and his face became pallid again. Whatever he had seen on that clay doll had frightened him, and Will squeezed his hand tighter for a measure of comfort. They returned to the Causeway, leaving the tight confines of the Choir behind them. Nobody spoke on the way back, strangely.

Anoth's group looked equally perturbed when Will's party met them back at the bottom of the Causeway. The men looked unsettled and some of them were sitting together in small groups, trading rhetorical questions and arguing with one another in fierce whispers. Will felt more and more uneasy with every passing minute in Dwer, and he would have turned back around and headed back if he knew the way. He was afraid, however, of getting lost, especially this far back in the foundries. They hadn't even reached a treasure room yet, and they had already gone nearly a mile.

"We lost four of our number," Anoth hastily informed Ibin when he returned.

"Four?" Ibin repeated, eyes widening in horror.

"A part of the ceiling caved in and we lost two. Two others went down a side passage and never came back. I don't know how either happened," Anoth admitted, grumbling. He didn't seem necessarily disturbed, just displeased with the outcome.

"Four, though, four," Ibin stammered, biting his lower lip.

"Let's not jump to hasty conclusions, now," Anoth warned him. "It was a freak accident."

"I agree," said Rikken, although he sounded less convinced than Anoth. "It...is unfortunate, yes, but we must carry on. Such things happen."

"Spoken with the grace of a true leader," Anoth complimented him, smiling bearishly. Rikken did not return the gesture, his face pale and waxy in a way Will had never seen before. He, too, must have his regrets now. "Now, should we be carrying on?"

"We'll need a few minutes. It's been a long walk," Ibin requested.

"Aye, but we need to make progress. Five minutes, no more," Anoth said, and turned back to Rikken to talk business. Ibin himself sat down on a nearby brick, still biting his lip.

"Aeric, are you okay?" Will asked, as he took Aeric to a nearby stone to sit. The latter looked particularly upset, and was biting his lip as well.

"I'm just...a little unnerved," Aeric said.

"What-"

"That was a weird room. That's all, it was just, uh, a strange place," Aeric cut him off. "I need a moment."

"Of course," Will permitted him. He rose, his knees shaking, and wandered off in the darkness about twenty feet away. The sound of his retching echoed quite unnervingly throughout the chamber, and lasted far too long. He came back looking a little better, though.

"Ahaha, cave fever," he joked weakly, smiling as he wiped vomit from his lips. Will smiled pitifully at him and the two sat in silence for a few minutes as Anoth and Rikken, sitting in their own pool of lantern light, furiously looked over a crude map.

"You really want to turn back?" Anoth grunted, raising his voice a little. He was quite audible in the oppressive silence of the Causeway.

"It was...quite unprecedented, I must say," Rikken said, his voice weaker than normal. Gone was the luster that had colored his tone back at North Driftmist, when he too was consumed with dreams of treasure and wealth. He had realized the possible gravity of their situation.

"Do you believe in the fairy tale, too?" Anoth asked mockingly. "What are you, _maakishin_? Fuck off with that."

"Four people don't just die in freak accidents," Rikken said, shaking his head glumly. "Not in Dwer. Something else is happening."

"I don't want to hear any more of this," Anoth grumbled, rising to walk again. "We will not be so easily dissuaded."

The other men began to rise as they saw their leader do so, although they all looked rather uneasy. The Choir visit, combined with the loss of four of their number in a single hour, had unsettled them greatly, and they all looked particularly pale in the unflattering lantern light.

"We will continue and stop for the night at the Second Level Plaza," Anoth announced, his voice booming in the Causeway's warrens. "That will put us in a good position to enter the treasure-rich areas in the morning."

There was no bickering with Anoth; Rikken, despite his concerns, was looking more hale and intrigued as he rose to follow his leader, perhaps somewhat convinced by Anoth's glib tongue. Ibin looked positively distraught to learn that they were delving deeper into the catacombs of the cursed caverns they now intruded within - as for Will, he had too many questions.

_What did Aeric see?_

_Where is Thompson's party?_

_Are we lost?_

_Was this a good decision?_

Something told him he might have made a poor decision entering these hallowed halls.

VVVVV

Matt awoke that morning feeling quite abandoned. It was an unusual feeling, quite fleeting, but left him rather upset as he woke up, lying in an empty bed. Where Sora should be, only some mussed covers and sheets remained, artifacts of an era that had taken a long pause. She had been gone for two days, but it felt like it was much longer, weeks even. The keep was silent and he was so very lonely.

He lit the candles and dressed himself, his clothing provided by the only servant left. Lighting the candles was a far more trying task now that Sora had vanished, leaving with her other servant. Sarah Lancaster was quiet and mouselike, and barely disturbed the tranquility of the keep. Matt decided it was no use waiting around in bed, and headed outside for some fresh air.

Crisp and cool, autumn held Stallhart firmly locked in its vice grip. Matt shuddered as he pulled his fur cloak closer around his shoulders, trying to preserve whatever heat he could. It was not really _cold _yet, being only on the verge of October, but it was certainly brisk and gave him cause to walk quickly across the muddy keep campus. He wasn't sure where he was walking, but he expected to find someone of interest on his journey; rather quickly, he ran into Sergeant Stellmeier, who had been engaged at the gateway dividing the keep proper from the quiet, placid village below.

"Good morning, my lord," Stellmeier greeted him hoarsely, looking up from his conversation. "We may have a problem."

"Ah, perfect," grumbled Matt. "Just what I needed."

"I can't say for sure, but there's been a report from Skagway. A report of fighting," the sergeant informed him.

"Fighting? Between?"

"Well, we're going to figure that out soon enough. I'm heading down to the main gate, I expect you soon enough," Stellmeier ordered. Hand resting anxiously on the pommel of his sword, he turned about-face and strode off down into the town, two leather-clad guards following him.

Matt scoffed but did not dispute with him. There was no disputing with the sergeant. He was missing Sora more and more now, and the heavy burden of his responsibilities was weighing on him as he entered the town, descending the wooden steps down into the sleepy abode.

Stallhart proper seemed more active than it was normally, despite reports of more than a few residents departing their homes and returning to Earth to greet their loved ones. Walking down into the market square, Matt could see why - Jonathan James Coggins, having disappeared off of his radar for quite some time, had now suddenly rematerialized, and with great pomp and circumstance.

At the center of the market square the man stood on a wooden crate, a Holy Bible in one hand and a smoking lantern in the other. In the dim morning light his lantern illuminated the crowd gathered before his soapbox, a horde of unwashed, ragged-looking peasants and farmer types eagerly fixated upon his every word. He spoke with the charismatic swagger of Odysseus and the confidence of Napoleon and it was clear the audience hung upon his every word. Stellmeier was nowhere to be found at this spectacle, clearly having considered it a waste of his precious time; Matt, however, was intrigued, even for the briefest of moments. Delwin Saythe could not match this, not yet.

"Do we not all have one father?" Saythe preached. "Has not one God created us? Why do we deal treacherously each against his brother so as to profane the covenant of our fathers? 'Judah has dealt treacherously, and an abomination has been committed in Israel and in Jerusalem; for Judah has profaned the sanctuary of the LORD which He loves and has married the daughter of a foreign god'." There was a murmur of agreement from the ranks of the proletariats assembled before him and someone gave a hearty _amen_. Coggins smiled gaily as he turned to face his entire flock, and smiled even more when he saw Matt, standing at the back of the square. His sermon ended fairly quickly after that, and the crowd dispersed, heading for their homes or for their market stalls to prepare for the day's travail. Matt tried to flee, but the missionary quickly caught him.

"That's the first time you've heard the word, I presume?" Coggins asked, cheerily taking Matt's side.

"I've, ah, heard a bit. But not-"

"Malachi 2:10-11," Coggins interrupted, grinning heartily. "It's a verse of solidarity and brotherhood. Perhaps a little too Levantine for this congregation, but the message is clear."

"You're quite unexpected here. Why did you come?" asked Matt, switching topics quickly. He needed to depart, but he was ever so slightly intrigued by Coggins, whose unique persona stood out like a sore thumb amidst the dull cast of characters that inhabited the town.

"Spread the word of God and improve the lot of as many as I could," Coggins answered simplistically. "That is a missionary's work."

"I had figured," Matt scoffed. "I was going to say something like that."

"I don't want you to think I'm proselytizing to you," Coggins rushed to correct, defending himself. "I'm not. Let's not get off on the wrong foot here. I am not trying to convert anybody. Those who wish to come to the flock, will come, and those who do not must certainly have another fate ordained by Him."

Matt had to take a moment to digest that interesting sound bite. It was clear Coggins was more man than missionary, at least by his initial persona, and Matt was almost impressed. Surprised, too - he had been expecting something quite different from what he received, and it was a pleasant shock.

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment. And I appreciate your...preaching," Matt lauded him, trying for a friendly tone. It worked, clearly, because the preacher smiled warmly at him.

"Oh, really? Well, I, ah-"

"Brotherhood is something we all need a little bit more of." Matt clasped a hand on the man's shoulder. "Especially as a counterpoint to a certain other congregation in this town."

"Oh, well, I would not want to create strife with any counterpart, but...I understand," Coggins said succinctly. They both understood each other, and it was clear they both shared a slight fear of Delwin Saythe. Matt was almost glad to have the missionary around, now - the more time he spent with the Herobrinists in town, the more uncomfortable he was with their presence. If he could drag the real Herobrine into their dingy little oracle and show them, they would pack up their chaos cult pretty damn fast.

"You depart?" asked Coggins as Matt, having smiled again, turned to leave.

"I must-"

"I hate to trouble you, but I must inquire of you...for assistance," asked Coggins, bowing his head slightly. The query troubled Matt, and his blood chilled a little as he stopped to listen.

"What would you have me do?" he asked leerily.

"I intend to build a church, my lord, but I cannot do it alone-"

"Money?" Matt ventured. Coggins' expression darkened, and Matt knew he had been correct.

"Money, I need. I can provide the labor. I just need the funds, my lord, and my congregation will have a house. I beg you to sleep on the proposition."

Matt had not been demanded for an immediate transaction; rather, he had a chance to ponder the possibility of handing Alliance money over to this unusual, strangely benign pastor. He was glad to have that chance, for he would have some thinking to do.

"I will do so," he promised genuinely. Jonathan James Coggins blessed him and parted quickly, rushing down a side street to God-knew-where. Matt had other business to attend to, and grumbled grumpily about the oddball preacher as he made his way to the town's gate.

It began to rain as he arrived at the rotting timbers of the city's only gate, finding Stellmeier and several guards camped out within the gatehouse confines, waiting. There appeared to be a party of people on the western horizon, about half a mile away, moving rather quickly and urgently. Matt felt a deep pit form in his stomach and realized a few of the oncomers were injured, and were being carried by their comrades.

"Some kind of fight, correct," Stellmeier murmured, pursing his lips in frustration. "We're going to have to ask some questions."

"Are they badly injured?" asked Matt, barely able to make out the figures of the men as they ran.

"Can't tell yet," Stellmeier said. "Teleraemon was out patrolling earlier today, I hope he's with them."

The scout was at the head of the column, naturally, rushing ahead of the others. Compared to the straggling group of peasant workers, who were battered and bloodied and looked practically frightened out of their senses, the tracker was calm and appeared almost _bored _as he approached them.

"We have had some trouble, if you could not tell," he dryly reported, barely bothering to bow to Matt as he arrived. "Castiron."

"They attacked!?" Matt exclaimed, feeling his gut tighten.

"Well, who else has a taste for our blood?" The scout smiled, showing rotting teeth. "It was minor, a scouting party of their own. Being the better scout, of course, I beat them off."

"Who's injured?" Stellmeier demanded brusquely.

"They attacked our peat cutters down by the stream. We've got six injured, but their wounds are not mortal and they should live if we see to them immediately," Teleraemon reported. "Well, I assume they'll live…"

"I'll get the damn herbalist," Stellmeier cursed, already turning on the spot. "Bring them in. Keep the gates open, we may need to send patrols out."

Matt was supposed to be the one giving orders, but in this situation he was at a loss for words. He stood there, dumbfounded, as the injured streamed towards the gates, seeking safety within the walls.

Two of them were in a worse state than he had imagined; their ragged clothes were drenched in blood, and one of them was missing half of his cheek from a massive gash. The others were battered and spattered with blood, but were walking and looked to be alright. Their two companions were in trouble, however, and Matt saw to it that they were escorted immediately towards the herbalist, in case their time was limited. He caught the sergeant and his herbalist right as they were leaving the shop, and Brudina Tolthor hurriedly escorted them in, huffing as she dashed back to her stores to find the herbs and supplies she needed.

"Bloody hell, what happened?" Stellmeier swore, turning on Teleraemon.

"I was close when they were attacked. They came out of the tall grass down by the bog, about a dozen of them, lightly armored but pretty well armed. I was able to rally some of the cutters and my own scouts to take them on and drive them off, but they put up a fight. I don't think the wounds are that bad-"

"Brudina will see to them, I'm sure they'll be fine," Matt hastily intervened, hoping to nip any fears in the bud. "This is discouraging, though."

"Downright worrisome," Stellmeier muttered. "That's a bold move that Pendleton is making." He cast an awkward glance at the shop assistant sweeping the area behind the front counter. He was certainly listening to their conversation, even though his eyes were on his work.

"I think it may have just been a patrol gone awry," said Teleraemon, casting a glance over at him as well.

"Could've also been a probing incident," Matt suggested. "I mean, maybe he's testing our defenses?"

"We cannot be sure," Stellmeier said. "But I want patrols to be beefed up, as much as possible. This cannot happen again. People cannot become afraid and disheartened by more events like this."

"I'll make sure of it," promised Teleraemon. "I'll have more men, as much as I can." But he didn't sound too certain about the possibility of such an operation working. He left quite hastily, determined to return to his patrols as quickly as possible in case another incursion occurred.

Stellmeier turned around and promised he would see Matt in the keep soon. "Lord Steadwin will want to know about this. Especially since it was so close to his precious villages," he grumbled. "I will meet you soon, Lord Cook. We'll need to speak."

Matt let him go. He wanted to see Ablyn Cullen now. If this was Cullen's work, by some sort of secret, then he would have the deserter's head. He could not risk anything worse happening, not with winter coming.

"Come to do me in, then?" Cullen muttered weakly, his eyes instantly meeting Matt's when the latter entered. His door had been locked from the outside, and his window had been boarded off from the outside as well, admitting only a pinch of light. He looked to be recovering, but he was still frail and scrawny-looking.

"You heard what we said?"

"These walls are thin," laughed Cullen. "I heard. I hope you don't take it against me."

"I had a brief thought," said Matt, feeling uncomfortable now that he realized Cullen was innocent. "But then I wondered why you would do something like that."

"I owe them nothing. They betrayed me, why should I help them?" Cullen argued, grimacing. His city had betrayed him, so what good would it do to provide a service to those who had no use for him any longer? It made too much sense.

"I apologize," Matt said.

"I'm surprised you've let me live," muttered Cullen, locking eyes with Matt again. His stare, however weak, was piercing. "Was it merciful, or strategic?"

The question was incredibly troubling. Matt realized that Cullen, despite his state, was trying to interrogate his captor. The question had great depth, too, and Matt did not want to answer to him.

"We'll talk again soon. You rest," Matt ordered, backing out of the room. Cullen did not answer to that.

Matt left Brudina's herbal shop hastily, eager to retreat to his abode. The day had only just dawned and already he had enough of it, having been exposed to Coggins' unusual demeanor _and _an enemy attack before daylight was fully upon him. He almost wanted to go back to bed, just for a little bit.

He needed a drink, really. And who was going to stop him?

He found Teleraemon and Stellmeier in the topography room, both of them arguing with one another. Against his better judgment, he stepped inside, if only to talk to them briefly; they would've wanted his presence, anyway, if they were talking tactics.

"It's unprecedented this early, but hardly unexpected," said Stellmeier, nodding to Matt as he made his entrance. "In the long run, it was bound to happen."

"Lord Cook will have to decide what we need to do," said Teleraemon. He, too, nodded, and Matt realized neither of them had bothered to bow to him. They didn't consider it necessary, apparently.

"I thought it was a good idea to beef up patrols, as you said," Matt muttered, feeling a spotlight being directed upon him.

"But is that going to be enough?" questioned the sergeant.

"That's a good question," Teleraemon agreed. "My Lord, I mean no offense, but you have not prepared the military of this town for anything beyond driving off brigands and putting out fires. We are at war, remember."

"I am well aware," Matt replied, a little offended. "It is hard to forget."

"Well, we are in a bad state of affairs," Teleraemon pointed out dryly. "Clearly, seeing as this morning's events transpired pretty poorly."

"They could've gone worse," retorted Matt.

"That's not the point," Stellmeier interjected. "Point is, measures need to be taken."

"I will think on the matter. Can we reach a decision tomorrow?" Matt asked.

"If you please, my Lord, but that is quite late-"

"I need to make the best decision possible, and I need time to think. I will return to you then," Matt interrupted him, eager to be leaving already. Neither of them argued with him, but he could tell they were both rather disappointed in him. They had expected a verdict on the matter to be reached.

They did not follow him out, and were clearly continuing their discussion without him. He was just the token piece upon which their activities hinged; they only needed him for consummation of their plans, and little else. Matt suddenly felt quite gloomy and his chest felt unusually tight, and he wanted a drink. Without Sora here to stop him, he was free to let loose a little and enjoy himself. After all, he was the noble of this castle, and he commanded its stocks and resources - who could tell him _no_?  
He didn't even consider the possibility of Sora taking a tally of the stockroom and discovering alcohol missing - he just nicked a bottle of fine-looking aged wine from its shelf without a second thought, eager to loosen up and relax. He could even take a morning nap, something that sounded particularly appealing in light of the events that had transpired at dawn. Heading up to his bedroom, unchecked by any of the keep's inhabitants, his plan almost worked, if not for the crazy fucking connection coming back.

He had just set the bottle down when he suddenly felt himself falling, and collapsed to the floor, landing hard on the rough wooden planks. His vision dimmed and then suddenly went black, as if a veil had been cast over his eyes. This wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, and quickly he realized what was going on; once again, he was transferring, and light returned to the world as he emerged from the void.

He was standing in some kind of concrete bunker, overlooking something incredibly familiar - the portal at old Delphos, buried within its cement tomb underneath the city's forgotten ruins. He couldn't forget that dead, lifeless portal frame even if he tried, for the events surrounding it were forever engraved in his memory. For the briefest second, he realized whose eyes he was looking through, before something violent occurred.

He suddenly heard a shriek, and a rush of wind, and then he was evicted from that point of view quite viciously, thrown back into the blackness from which he had come. He heard someone shouting hoarsely, in a raspy voice that was all-too-familiar, and then he returned to his own room again, nauseous and covered in sweat.

It all happened within the span of fifteen seconds - link, unlink, and wake up on the floor with blood running from a cut on the forehead. Matt realized that now he would _really _need a drink. He rose to his feet and, unsteady, unplugged the cork from the bottle and brought it to his mouth. He let the crisp, sweet liquid flow down his throat as the tiny rivulet of crimson blood flowed down his cheek.

VVVVV

B'aileth was hotter than ever, and it was barely ten o'clock. Leon had to confiscate a handkerchief for himself just to wipe the sweat from his forehead as he strolled out of his quarters, followed by Herobrine, Darius, Albrecht, and Simons. They were all armored and armed, prepared for whatever might lie ahead in the first leg of their journey, and they were all baking underneath the layers of chainmail and thick leather. The sweat congealed in Leon's nether regions and he began to wonder if this sort of preparation was _truly _necessary.

After all, what could possibly be waiting down there in the underneath? What was the worst they would find?

"What's our plan, my lord?" asked Darius as they walked, wiping sweat from his thick brow. Their party was easily able to part the crowd of B'aileth; the shifty conmen and sweaty day laborers alike cast wary glances at the well-armed team making its way down the wide city avenues, and everyone was quick to leap out of the way and continue on, minding their own business. One man with a sword might not be intimidating for the average B'aileth criminal; four men and one _very _well-armored woman, however, was a different story that produced different results.

"Well, we find Bitawwi first," said Leon. That was the most necessary step - without Bitawwi, and the backup he was bringing, they might find themselves in a tight spot. Five people were not enough for an expedition the likes of which they were going to tackle.

"Easy to do," Darius grumbled, remembering their first meeting four days ago, and their meeting in the mercenary camp the day after that. "He marks himself everywhere he goes."

"Apparently he's back at his favorite whorehouse, although his captains ought to be ready and waiting for us," Leon said. "I got a letter this morning."

"Well, I hope he's ready and raring to go," Darius muttered. "I'm not inclined to wait…"

"I don't think you will," said Leon. "We're paying him damn good money, and he won't skip out on that."

Bitawwi understood what they were to be doing, but he had been promised a vast sum, and had already been paid handsomely. Despite his initial apprehensions, he had seemed excited to delve into the depths of B'aileth's underneath and retrieve the "Wither skull" they were seeking. Success for him meant money, and money meant alcohol, drugs, sex, and whatever else a man of vice could possibly desire.

They reached Whispering Hearts within a few minutes owing to their brisk pace, and found the odd assortment of captains waiting outside, lead by Johnson, Zhao and Turchynov. Hathaway, the potioneer, was nowhere to be seen surprisingly. The pleasure palace, as richly decorated as ever, was awaiting them as they approached the entrance.

"He's inside, of course," said Turchynov, grumbling. "We wait."

"Is this all of you?" Leon looked around at the motley assortment of captains and officers. They were just short of two dozen, not counting the small team Leon had brought with him - would this be enough to tackle whatever lay beneath the placid surface of the lake?

"Essentially. Captain Hathaway is...inside," replied Zhao, looking with irritation at the doorway. Leon realized what she meant, and began to feel a tinge of regret. Maybe hiring Saif Bitawwi had not been the best idea, if he had relationships like that within his little private army.

"We must get them," Turchynov rumbled, his tone ever so malevolent and ursine. He was a bear of a man, brawny and thick, and had the build of a brawler and a soldier, clearly a result of his previous occupation.

"Give them time," Zhao stressed, grimacing.

"I didn't pay him for extra time," said Leon. "It's now or bust. This is urgent." He couldn't say _why_, of course...that would be potentially exposing sensitive information to outside parties, something he and Hero had very clearly wanted to avoid during their circumglobal adventure.

"Very well. We may go, but it's your head on the line if he's displeased," Zhao warned, nodding towards the doors of the Whispering Hearts palace. Turchynov grumbled in response, something laconic, and the rest of the officers filed in behind him as they pushed the doors aside, passed the rather meek-looking foyer attendant, and made their way through the lush, decadent interiors of the pleasure house.

Leon trudged through wafting clouds of incense as they forged a path to the back of the estate. With any luck, Bitawwi would be ready for their adventure, armed to the teeth and preferably armored. Leon, however, had the feeling that they would have to wait a little while before they could depart - his fears were confirmed when Zhao, leading the convoy, pushed aside long strands of beads and admitted them to Bitawwi's room.

"He is late," snarled Turchynov in his typically brief fashion.

"Fashionably, of course," Bitawwi retorted, grinning at his Ukrainian henchman. The bearish officer did not return the gesture, and Leon wondered whether his unchanging features had been carved out of solid cement.

"We've been waiting a fair while. Are you going to stay here all day, or will you actually do your job?" Zhao inquired, her upper lip stiff and pronounced. Her tone was icy and even Leon felt his blood chill a little as she berated Bitawwi for wasting time.

"I will do as bid. The payment was sufficient," agreed Bitawwi, smiling gaily at all of them. Few returned the favor, standing awkwardly within the doorway or behind it as they glanced into his little harem room.  
"I should hope so," Leon grumbled. "That was quite a chunk of money." He averted his eyes and turned back around, shoving aside a few lowly officers; the room contained a miasma of vapors and incense, and it was giving him an awful headache. One could not simply delve into an ancient temple with a pounding migraine.

Bitawwi had presented quite a sight for himself, having been seemingly unprepared for the arrival of his employers. Reclining in a plush recliner complete with stuffed ottoman, he was completely naked from head to toe, with an equally naked Melissa Hathaway resting leisurely on his knee. She made no effort to hide her rotund breasts and almost seemed to enjoy the attention she was receiving for her slender, naked body, basking in the light of a dozen hungry pairs of eyes. Leon refused to look any further; they were late, and that in itself was disgusting enough.

"The woman is a sly seductress and a heinous harlot. She is not to be trusted, not with those wiles and charms," Zhao scoffed to Leon as soon as she was out of earshot of her employer. She, too, was escaping the suffocating miasma of the harem room, and Leon could hear Darius coughing heavily again up front. He wondered how true Zhao's statement was.

"Slut is weak," Turchynov grunted. "Does not know how to fire gun." He tapped his holstered submachine pistol threateningly.

"She is dangerous in many ways, Arkady. You know that as well as I," Zhao reminded him. Clearly, she had experience dealing with Hathaway, who appeared to be quite the dangerous rogue when she wanted.

"I do not fear small bottles of liquid," Turchynov sneered, turning away. He was certainly a stubborn and blunt-headed man, to be sure.

"Does Lieutenant Bitawwi have no idea of her...true nature?" asked Leon.

"Does he care?" Zhao said. "He receives the pleasure he wants, she gets the money and the rank of officer. She didn't earn it, but as long as she rides him he will never demote her."

Leon quickly reminded himself not to trust any of them, even if no one was quite as wily as Melissa Hathaway. They could all be plotting against him, and worse yet, the real enemy was out there somewhere - pursuing the same objective as he.

The squad of mercenaries departed Whispering Hearts quite briskly, flogged by Leon's harsh words as he moved them to action. Their paychecks on the line, they stumbled out into the humid city, a long column of armored and _very _well-armed soldiers standing out amidst the mass of unwashed, smelly day laborers and peddlers who roamed the cobbled highways of B'aileth. Even Bitawwi, who had presented himself in a rather unappealing birthday suit earlier, was now dressed to the nines and encased within a suit of jet black lamellar armor, complete with a skirt of chainmail and protective bronze greaves. Everyone was prepared for the worst, and certainly hoping for the best.

Upon reaching the causeway gate, they were stopped by several pikemen, who demanded to speak with the leader. Herobrine, here, once more came through for them, asking for a certain person whose name Leon could not identify. He was called into the gatehouse, and opted to go alone, even though Leon wasn't too eager to see Hero leaving the party. As he was escorted into the barracks by two of the pikemen, the mercenary group waited idly, awkwardly standing before the towering sandstone walls rimming the lakeside.

"Is that it, then?" Saif Bitawwi asked, pointing to some indistinct object through a crack in the brazilwood gates. Leon squinted and strained his eyes, but he could finally see what Bitawwi was seeing.

"That's it," Leon informed him, recognizing the small, squat circular structure.

"It's...smaller, than I had imagined. Unless it's a trick of the eye-"

"I'm told there is more than meets the eye, here," said Leon. "Are you ready to go spelunking?"

"I'm not particularly fond of the idea," Bitawwi admitted, paling a bit. "But...if we must."

"We may. Hero's returning," Leon said, snapping to the opening door of the guardhouse. Hero returned with a much older man dressed in the light armor of the B'aileth guard and wearing what appeared to be some sort of squat fez on his bald head. He said very little, and only in his mother tongue, but the pikemen rushed to the gate and forced it open, parting the doors and allowing them access to the causeway.

"What did you do?" whispered Leon as the group passed through the gateway, exiting onto the causeway leading to the center of the lagoon.

"He is aware of the struggle. He was waiting for this, perhaps even waiting for us," Hero explained with brevity. "Waiting for someone."

"Did he know you?" asked Leon.

"Perhaps," Hero mused. "Perhaps." He said no more.

The causeway was a long, thin, lateral bridge of polished limestone sitting merely inches above the tranquil lavender waters of the lagoon. Heat rose off of the water's surface, choking the bridge in a cloud of humid mist, and it was not long before they had reached the slick marble steps providing entrance to the temple. The building appeared larger up close, but for a temple it was still remarkably small, only about a hundred feet in diameter and perhaps three hundred in circumference. It was beautiful, however; its pillars stood erect, chiseled out of the finest marble, and its roofing and balustrade were decorated with frescoes and carvings of ancient, elegant figures.

Leon took the first step. He was in the lead, but it took a few seconds for the rest to stir and copy his action. Even Bitawwi, whose lust for gold had given him cause for excitement before, looking rather apprehensive about following.

"I will speak to the guardian here," said Hero.

"A guardian?"

"He is just a mortal man, but he guards the entrance. We will need his blessing to enter," Hero warned, and took the lead now, continuing up the steps. The entrance to the rotund oracle was small, just a plain aperture not six feet tall and lacking any form of door. That, Leon noted, was an odd detail - this was supposed to be a sacred site, protecting countless treasures and a vast library of ancient relics. Why didn't it have a goddamn _door_?

The interior was incredibly clean, almost sterile; no dust, no dirt, no human refuse of any kind. It was verily empty too, undecorated beyond the carvings on the interior and a few nude statues ensconced within individual alcoves. There was only one door, leading into a back room, and nothing else. The walls and ceiling were all made out of gorgeous marble, shimmering with the flickering lights of a hundred fresh, scented candles.

Despite the cleanliness, the place was clearly inhabited. Someone else was here.

"This place. I do not like it," whispered Turchynov, keeping his voice low. Almost no one dared to talk; Johnson looked positively mortified, whispering about ants under his breath, and Zhao's hawkish eyes darted from alcove to alcove, searching for uncategorized threats. Hathaway, dressed in particularly revealing garb, had the Lieutenant's left arm clutched in her hands, huddling up with him. Whether or not her fright was real or artificial, Leon did not know, nor did he particularly care. Someone else was in there with them, and he could now hear footsteps.

"Do you have an appointment, or did you just decide to drop in?"

A surprisingly hearty, hale voice called to them from the back room, and a strapping young blond man emerged from the back room, dressed only in a snowy white tunic with a crimson band around the waist. He looked almost bored, and hardly surprised to see close to three dozen armed and armored soldiers standing in the foyer of his temple.

"We...dropped in?" Lieutenant Bitawwi replied tentatively. The youth frowned at him.

"Who are you?" he inquired, standing before the entire assembly. There was a moment of odd silence before Herobrine stepped forward.

"Ah, you. I remember you!" exclaimed the young man, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the impressive figure before him. "So that's why you're here."

"Where is the Chronicler?" asked Herobrine, leaping straight to the point.

"Where he always is," the gatekeeper said. "Old bastard never comes upstairs. I will call him, though." Which implied they would need to be patient. He returned to the back room quickly, disappearing behind several storage shelves and leaving the building basked in silence again.

"Do not trust him. I can shoot him?" asked Turchynov, looking rather eager to be getting into any form of violence.

"No, that would be a poor idea, quite unnecessarily antagonistic," Herobrine said, noticing Johnson flinch visibly with the final word.

"Is he the guardian you referred to?" asked Leon.

"No. He's the guy who finds the guardian for us," Herobrine replied. This was the Chronicler he had referred to earlier, presumably.

"So there's a downstairs area, eh?" Leon ventured.

"I presume that's where we'll go. I honestly don't know, however," Hero admitted. If Hero didn't know, then it was likely nobody knew; a feeling of apprehension began rising in Leon's stomach as footsteps approached once more, reverberating off of the thick marble walls.

The Chronicler was a withered old stooge, back bent and skin wrinkled and shriveled by age, his frizzy white hair dangling over his shoulders haphazardly. He wore the same white robe as his younger counterpart, but it was decorated with sashes of crimson, purple, lavender, and yellow. His eyes were damaged by massive cataracts and in one hand he held a withered wooden walking stick - in the other, some sort of strange silver eyepatch.

"They really just showed themselves in. I would've stopped them, but they've got swords, and that one guy's got a pretty nasty boomstick on him," the young man said, talking to the Chronicler. Turchynov grumbled audibly.

"We've come-"

"Come for the skull...yes?" the Chronicler asked, his voice surprisingly hale for a man of his age. He turned his wasted eyes upwards towards them, and his head turned from left to right, as if he were scanning the entire group. Leon wondered if it was just an act, or if he somehow saw all of them despite his injuries.

"We have," Hero admitted. This was not a man to be trifled with; lying would do them no favors.

"You realize I could tell you 'no', easily," the Chronicler warned, turning his gaze on Leon. It made him feel right uncomfortable, to be studied by that wrinkled old prune, and reminded him of the strange aura he had felt down in the depths of the archives the other day. Southern magic and supernaturality was an alien and unnerving thing to behold.

"You could, yes," Hero mused.

"These are my halls," the Chronicler said. "I could deny you access with one word."

"But you won't, will you?"

There was a pause, as if the Chronicler was considering evicting them.

"You may enter," he finally remitted. "I know what you're here for. I cannot deny you that, no matter who you serve."

"We serve the notion of good," Hero assured him.

"I highly doubt that. But there are darker forces than you at work, I give you that," the Chronicler mused. "Trass, will you guide them?"

"Hmmm, must I? I don't fancy walking around with the Sleepers, especially if they're on their restless period," the younger man said, perturbed at the notion of being the group's escort. He had paled a little at the thought of doing so.

"You need not go that far," the Chronicler reassured him. "If they wish, they will pass into that realm, but you may remain behind."

"I would prefer that," said Trass.

"Take them into the basement," said the old man. "Show them as far as required, and be hospitable. We treat guests well here."

"Thank you for your hospitality," Leon thanked the old man, who waved him off.

"You have an important duty to fulfill. I cannot refuse you," he replied. The group began moving towards the back room, ushered forwards by Trass, who looked positively _thrilled_ to be descending into this "basement".

"What do they mean, when they say 'Sleepers'?" asked Leon, pulling Herobrine aside as the others prepared to depart.

"I don't know what they're referring to," Hero admitted warily. "It's...not known to me, beyond my realm of expertise. Whatever's down there won't be worth waking, though, should it be sleeping."

"What if we have to wake them?"

"I don't know what _they _are, so questions are pointless," snapped Hero.

"He looked frightened to be going down there," Leon pointed out, referring to the apprehension of Trass. "Shouldn't we?"

"Not without good reason," Hero said. "Just stick with the group, and follow me. With luck, we'll be in and out in a hurry."

"I'm not so optimistic," Leon grumbled, and fell into line as Trass led them into the back room and down towards what appeared to be a small, undecorated trap door that nearly blended in with the floor.

"I expect you back within an hour, yes?" the Chronicler inquired of his assistant, who was preparing to escort the mercenaries down into the temple's basement.

"Hopefully. Nothing beyond the Entry Realm, yes?" asked Trass.

"You may turn back after that," the Chronicler reiterated. "I will be up here...perhaps I will read a nice poem while I have the place to myself. I do enjoy ancient Archymyiaean poetry…"

The withered prune began rambling and wandered off, disappearing behind a tall shelf stacked with tomes and scrolls. Trass grunted something under his breath, likely vulgar, and took the lead, pulling the trapdoor open and admitting them to a small, dusty stairwell leading down at a sharp angle.

"So, you like the guy?" Trass made small talk as they descended. He was speaking to nobody in particular, but none of the mercenaries replied to him. Leon picked up when they let him down.

"He's...a peculiar person, I'll say that," Leon replied.

"Try living with him every hour of every day," Trass snorted derisively. "The peculiarity only lasts so long."

"How big is your basement down here?" asked Leon, looking for another question. Trass wasn't his favorite person in the world, but if Leon could learn anything more about this unusual structure and its history, it could perhaps help them once they arrived at their destination.

"Basement?" Trass snickered, throwing a strange look back at Leon. "Is that what you call it?"

"He referred to it as that," Leon reminded him.

"Ah, yes, he did say that," Trass remembered, frowning. "Basement is...one way to put it. It's technically underneath the temple, in a way. But it's not what you'd think of as a _basement_, in the normal sense. We're almost there. You will see."

They had now reached a landing of sorts, carved out of the underground stone, and were making their way to a spiral iron staircase leading another thirty feet down. At the bottom was a single crude wooden door, able to fit only one person at a time, and by the time Leon had reached it the last man of their team was still at the top of the staircase and descending.

"Now, I must warn you, the things down here will be unlike anything you've ever seen before," Trass cautioned as he reached the door and made for its rusty brass handle.

"What should we be expecting?" Leon asked, swallowing any apprehension building in his throat.

"Things that should not be. And more," he answered, turning the knob as he did. "I ask you not to panic or react negatively to what you see. You may not understand but I ask that you simply remain silent and follow me. It's how the Chronicler would want it."

Following Trass, Leon was the first of the group into the room. He could see a wide, cavernous space up ahead, but they were stuck within a tight, linear corridor momentarily. Leon kept pace with Trass and walked, his shoulders brushing the wet, damp stone, and wondered what lie just ahead, beyond the nondescript hallway. He didn't have to wonder long.

"I will need a lantern later. For now, however, the regular torches will light our way," said Trass, turning back to Leon and giving him an almost sly look. "Are you ready for this?"

"For what?"

Trass made some sort of sharp slicing movement, made his way to the right wall, and laid his hand on what looked like a smooth surface on the stone. A ring of torches, once invisible in the prevailing darkness within the chamber, erupted with cold yellow light, illuminating the entire cavern.

They stood in a circular chamber, at least eight hundred feet in diameter, far larger than the surface temple had been. The chamber was hollow besides a precarious walkway, carved out of the earth's stone, that lined the circumference of the cavernous space and was able to comfortably fit only two men abreast. At the flattened top of the space a chute about fifteen feet wide admitted a steady stream of water that cascaded down and erupted onto what looked to be a tiled floor nearly two hundred feet below the walkway, somehow illuminated by the torchlight. The floor was designed in such a way that the water would flow down the slightly slanted flanks and spill out into several drainage ports, which issued the water into some vague dark canal. The sides of the cistern were impeccably smooth, albeit damp and wet with flecks of water, and the chamber remained undecorated beyond the hundreds of statues lining every alcove, and the horrifying visage looking down from above.

"This, my friends, is B'aileth," Trass introduced, feigning granduity. "The true B'aileth, not the hive of trash and blight you see above."

Nobody spoke after he did. Some people were still filing down the staircase and into the corridor, and those who could see the chamber were too awestruck or horrified to speak. Even Herobrine, normally unmoved by the deeper places of the world, looked unnerved by the sights he saw.

The mosaic on the roof was what bothered Leon the most. Sure, the precipitous drop onto the odd tile floor was concerning; but as he glanced up to see where the water fell from, he saw it, and realized his mistake. The entire ceiling was decorated with the horrifying facade of some magnificent, yet immensely menacing leviathan. Only the face had been presented, but that was enough to chill Leon's blood and set his hackles erect; the abomination had a sapient face but its features were twisted and inhuman, and its skin was discolored and mottled - not by time, but by the handiwork of the artist. The water flowed from where its mouth would be, a perfectly round circle spewing the contents of the lagoon above as if the leviathan were vomiting forth its own bodily fluids. Leon could scarcely stand to glance up again, and turned his attention to the walkway and the statues lining it. That, too, was a mistake.

"No, they are not statues," Trass said, clutching his hand as if it were injured. "They were people, once. I ask that you do not touch, for He is sensitive."

Leon revisited the statue he was looking at, hidden about a foot inside an alcove in the wall. It stood upon a pedestal of black obsidian, legs rigid and body erect, one hand at its side and the other raised towards the aberration on the ceiling. A single finger, the index, was pointed out at a strange angle, and upon closer inspection Leon saw that it was pointed directly at the "mouth" in the ceiling, the water chute. Something in his gut churned and he knew it wasn't physical sickness, but revulsion.

"These were people?" Leon repeated, his lips suddenly dry and his throat hoarse. In a flash of terror, he thought he could discern facial features underneath what appeared to be some sort of hardened resin, but he resigned that to a trick of the mind.

"Were," Trass snapped. "No longer." He began walking again, clearly uninterested in being down here. It took Leon a few moments to tear himself away from the "statue", and follow Herobrine as the latter followed their escort alongside the walkway.

"He is a great being," said Trass, "in the sense of both power and horror. His lesser form is kept here, but He extends far beyond that." His voice echoed ominously throughout the chamber, the only sound present besides the rapid splashing of water. "These are the placators. They please his senses."

"These are not statues, then?" Herobrine asked.

"Placators. Sacrifices. Those given to Him to keep him satiated," Trass explained, sounding irritated. "I'd rather you not dwell on the notion. This way, if you please."

There had to be dozens, maybe even hundreds of them lining the walkway that itself lined the circumference of the room. Leon could not look at them any longer, for he now knew that each one was a human being, encased within some sort of strange stone and trapped in the grip of some foul beast. Even Trass, who lived in this forsaken temple, looked rather perturbed as he reached a doorway on the other side of the room, opposite of their entrance. He placed his hand on a smooth spot on the wall and it was then Leon realized his hand was bleeding, as if he had slashed it on something.

"You're hurt," Leon pointed out, his mouth dry as he spoke. The splashing of the water in the cistern behind him was unnerving, and he could almost swear he heard footsteps down there, even though he had seen nothing.

"I'm well aware," Trass replied hastily as part of the stone parted for him. "I will get a lantern, and then we can continue."

The long hallway ahead of them was steeped in darkness, and Trass had to edge into a side room and fumble around inside a few minutes before he found his light source. When he lit the oil inside and held it up to illuminate the corridor, Leon could see a strange object wrapped around his eyes, as if he were wearing a blindfold. For a moment, Leon thought he had gone mad, and was doing something incredibly ludicrous. He walked away, however, without issue, gamely stepping ahead and leading them down.

The corridor was wide enough to allow several men abreast and the entire team filed into it, following Trass as his single bobbing beacon of light led them into the darkness. They were enveloped within the bubble, which somehow encompassed everybody, and they walked slowly and carefully, taking Trass's pace. Glancing to his left and to his right, Leon could see narrow corridors branching off into the darkness, disappearing after a few feet, and suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. If the cistern had been anxiety-inducing, this was now downright frightening.

They were soon within a labyrinth, heading in a straight line but surrounded by branching corridors on both sides, as well as above and below. Several times Trass had to sidestep a gaping hole in the floor, which admitted a rather menacing entrance to another level of catacombs several feet below. Everyone carefully and hurriedly adjusted to stay out of danger, and Leon felt incredibly anxious even in the lantern's light. What lay beyond that pool of luminance, in the dark hallways all around them, he did not know; what was watching them, he could not determine. But something was.

"Would you like me to hum a song for you?" asked Trass, breaking the atmosphere. Leon realized that, before he had spoken, the catacombs had been dead silent, and they had been walking down a gentle incline for quite a while. They were descending, and he just now realized it.

"I'd prefer you not," he replied, grimacing at the thought.

"Why? Alleviate the tension a little, perhaps lighten the mood. I know some cheery tunes," Trass promised, tongue salty with sarcasm.

"I'm not sure what would be worse," said Leon. "That, or the silence."

"It's permanent down here. You get a little used to it, although, I admit…" Trass did not finish his sentence, because he suddenly stopped at what appeared to be an arched doorway, undecorated and hewn out of the rough stone.

"This is where I leave you," he said grimly, looking through it. The door looked ordinary enough, but Leon knew it was special somehow - Trass's demeanor and tone had changed, as if to deliver the gravity of the situation.

"You leave us here!?" growled Saif Bitawwi, surprised.

"I refuse to go any further," Trass snarled, turning on them. Despite the silvery sliver of fabric cloaking his eyes, he could see each one of them somehow. "You came down into this accursed prison voluntarily, and now you must decide whether to continue or to turn back."

"What awaits us down there?" Herobrine asked, silencing Bitawwi with a hand on the shoulder.

Trass was on the verge of denying Herobrine's question, but he relented briefly. His knuckles were white from where he grasped the lantern's handle.

"Many things," Trass replied. "There are rooms you may not enter. There are rooms you _cannot _enter. There are some rooms you will wish you had not entered. But the Embalmers are down there, most of all."

"Embalmers?" asked Hero.

"Do you mean...those Sleepers?" Leon posited.

"They sleep, they wake, they sleep, they wake, it's all of their own accord," Trass blathered, shaking his head furiously. "You've seen their handiwork already. You've seen their works of..._art_. You know why they're named such."

Leon knew what he was referring to. Hundreds of them, hidden in their little alcoves. _Embalmed_.

"We will try not to disturb them," Herobrine promised.

"It is not of my concern," Trass snapped, already turning back. "I leave you the lantern, for I can see the way back is safe for me. For all of you, however, you may be finding yourself in grave danger. Do you turn back, or will you go?"

There was a moment of hesitation. Leon could see the sweat beading on Saif Bitawwi's face, thick and saline. He was almost tempted to turn back, but he knew he had to press on, no matter what lay beyond that door.

"We press on. Any who do not wish to go, will return with Trass," Leon announced to the team.

"Those who do not wish to go forward do not get paid," Herobrine reminded them sternly.

"You are fools, but I wish you the best of luck," Trass said to them, bidding them farewell. "Do not let them take you. Do not give yourself to their arts. And do not wake Him."

With that advice, he left, disappearing into the darkness. Leon, holding the lantern aloft, turned towards the arch and peered into it. The hallway continued, but he knew it would be different.

Stepping over the threshold, he felt nothing new, nothing strange. Nothing had changed, and the hallway ahead was as plain as any old cave.

Yet he knew he had entered another realm. He had entered the Underneath.

He took another step forward, and then another. Slowly, one by one, each team member followed.

VVVVV

The Second Level Plaza of Dwer was a mighty thing, incredibly spacious and expansive even by the standard set by Dwer. It may have been smaller than the city's entrance, the great hollow screw driving into the earth, but it was still imposing, and could fit all fifty-eight members of the expedition as they settled in for the night.

The tents were erected and firewood was placed into a small pile at the center of the camp. The fire itself was a pitiful thing, hardly burning, but it gave a bit of heat and allowed them to have some warm food. For that latter thing, Will was quite pleased - Dwer was chilly, but not cold, and his leather and tunic kept him warm. The food, however, was satisfying and filled his stomach, and he enjoyed a meal of roast capon, warm bread and hot porridge with the rest of the team.

"Gentlemen, we may have found nothing yet, but we haven't looked hard enough," said Anoth, sitting at the head of the group.  
"I'll say! Tomorrow's the day, lads," Rikken promised, now cheery and hale like the leader. Although everyone had been perturbed and dismayed by the day's events, and the loss of four of their number, Anoth's glib tongue and Rikken's promises had spurred them onward. They had delved into the foundries earlier, but had found nothing but empty, cavernous chambers and dark corridors. The search had been abandoned, and they had set up camp on the Second Level Plaza to get some shut-eye.

"If we don't find anything within two days, we'll call it quits," Anoth told them. "You boys know me. I'm no sucker for fairy tales. I won't waste time."

"It'll be a long way back, depending on how deep we go," Ibin pointed out.

"That will be fine," said Anoth. "I know where we are, and where we will have to go. It's just a matter of following directions and thinking straight." Despite the comfort of the warm food in his belly, Will felt a little unnerved. The fire's light was pleasing, but their camp was surrounded by the blackest darkness, and it was ever so slightly frightening.

"Anoth's a vet at this," Ibin reassured Will when he broached the subject of their leader's experience. "He knows what he's doing, I promise you."

Ibin looked exhausted. Compared to the heartiness of Anoth and the false optimism of Rikken, Ibin looked nothing short of dead. The experience earlier in the Choir, combined with the reported losses of the four men, had drained him of the spirit he had possessed beforehand. Where he had once shared Rikken's excitement and joy, he was now deprived of any energy whatsoever.

"He doesn't seem to be bothered that we lost four guys," Will pointed out.

"Death happens," said Ibin, shrugging. "Anoth is experienced at hunting. If we're in trouble, he'll take care of us."

He did not seem certain of that himself. He refused to answer any other questions and promptly took off to his tent, following several other treasure hunters. Slowly, two by two, men departed from the campfire after their jolly supper, eager to obtain some rest after the day's long journeys. Will and Aeric, both quite fatigued by the long march, left soon after, filing off to their own tent that they shared with Ibin and another man.

"It'll be a long day tomorrow," Ibin promised as they settled in to their knapsacks for the night. "Get as much rest as you can."

That was all he said. Will was rather anxious and found it difficult to close his eyes, even after bidding Aeric goodnight and snuffing out the candle light. The fire was still lit at the center of their encampment, but its light was dim and unable to penetrate the tent's shear fabric. Thus, Will was encased in blackness, and couldn't make out anything beyond his face. That frightened him, and he resigned himself to curling up within his knapsack and ignoring the cavernous maw beyond the camp.

He was about to finally fall asleep when he saw the light flicker in the distance. It was tiny, no larger than a single isolated star on a dark, clear night, but he could see it.

He wondered, at first, if he was dreaming, or his brain was befuddled. He shook off the veil of sleep and could still see it, only it was brighter this time, and appeared to be closer now. It had moved during the interval between Will's waking and the second time he spotted it, and he suddenly realized that he could be looking at another human being.

Was this person lost? Were they just exploring? They were holding a candle or a torch of some sort, clearly, by the small area their source illuminated. Will had the gut feeling that they were lost and realized that he, being the only person probably awake, had to do _something_.

"Ibin..._Ibin_," he whispered, shaking the man lying next to him. Ibin absolutely refused to wake; he was out cold, completely unresponsive to Will's stimuli. Will gave up after a minute, and turned back to the light - it remained in the same place, although it had not been long. He had to do something.

Without Ibin, his resources were limited, but in the fading light of the fire he was able to stumble around the makeshift camp and find a candle in one of the team's supply caches. Nobody else was awake, besides him; a few men lay next to the fire, snoring and passed out from drinking, but otherwise no one else was visible, all consigned to their tents for the night. The fire was dying quickly and it would be extinguished within an hour.

Using flint and tinder, he lit the tiny wick and ventured past the outer ring of tents, leaving the comfort and light of the fire behind. He was now exposed to the darkness, his path illuminated only by the weak light from the candle, and he suddenly felt afraid. He made his way towards the speck of light suspended in the blackness, slowly at first to avoid tripping, and then running once he realized he was on flat ground and he had no fear of running into something.

He ran for about a solid minute. Then he realized what was wrong.

The candle had not grown any closer. Rather, it had remained at the same distance, with the same brightness, as if it had retreated further. Whoever was holding it had stepped back, clearly; Will had been running for a solid minute, and had traversed a pretty significant distance during his jog. The candle _had _to have moved, it had to. Whoever its owner was had taken a decent journey, the same distance Will had run.

Something was wrong. Something was _very _wrong.

Will's blood ran cold and he realized that the candle had not moved any further. It remained still, as if waiting for him to make a move. He felt eyes on him, and suddenly turned on his heels and ran back to camp. He didn't dare look back at the speck of light; he didn't want to know where it was now in relation to him. He ran until he reentered the ring of tents surrounding the fire's light.

The candle in his hand had been extinguished a while ago, blown out by his hurried breath. He only now realized this, so fixated he had been on his ultimate goal of getting back to safety. Turning around, he thought he could see a tiny glimmer of tantalizing light in the distance, nearly swallowed by Dwer's darkness.

But he saw nothing. It was all dark, no stars at all. Exhausted, Will tossed the chunk of wax aside and returned to his tent. He would bury his head in the covers and try to forget about whatever had been trying to lure him into the blackness beyond.


	14. The Lights of Dwer

Another man had gone missing that night. The total was now up to five.

His name had been Rarik, apparently, and he had been one of the men part of Rikken's original party back at the Ditch. Will had never known his name, but now it was reverberating within his head.

_Rarik_! _Rarik_! _Rarik_!

The shouts and cries carried farther and farther into the distant caverns as the search parties carried on with their excruciatingly pointless task. Wherever Rarik was, he had been long gone by now; he had disappeared before dawn, as his mates had noticed him missing when they woke up at the breakfast bell. It was nearly a lost cause.

"That's five," said Ibin soberly as he nursed a chunk of warm bread. "Five now."

"Don't talk like that," Anoth grumbled. "We're gonna do just fine. If we don't find treasure today, I'll get us out of here, I promise."

Whether Anoth was simply experienced or whether he was playing overconfidence, Will did not know. The treasure hunter was a veteran, and a revered one at that, but his initial facade of confidence and certainty appeared to be wearing thin. He looked a little less sure of himself now that _five _people had vanished, where normally only one would.

Camp was mostly silent that morning as many took their breakfast plates back to their tents, sticking with their buddies for protection. Only the bravest men dared to venture out into the darkness, armed only with lanterns and hand-picks, to search for the missing Rarik.

"How long will it take us to get back out?" Will ventured, curious.

"Only about a day, maybe less if we double-time it," Anoth replied, stroking his coarse beard thoughtfully. "I think today will be our lucky day, though. I can get us to treasure, I know it."

"I should hope so," Ibin muttered. "I'm not appreciating these bleak caves."

"You're a treasure hunter, Ibin," snapped Anoth, affronted. "Why don't you act like it?"

Having finished his food, he rose, sent his plate clattering aside, and departed as he grumbled under his breath. Somewhere on the other side of the camp he began shouting orders, as a man of his stature was wont to do.

"It's not the caves that are the problem," said Ibin to Will, when the big bear was well out of earshot. "It's this place."

"I feel you," Will replied, spooning cooling porridge into his mouth.

"Dwer is no hole in the mountain. It's got some sort of effect to it, boy, and Rikken knows that too. Anoth, though…"

"He's too stubborn to believe it?" Will ventured.

"It's not _that_...he's too experienced, in all the wrong ways," Ibin explained. "He's been under the earth more times than you've even glanced into a cave, and he's never found anything supernatural or evil. He thinks those kinds of things don't exist in this world." He shook his head.

Will knew that was incorrect. He had seen things with his own eyes, had seen the great horde of murderous monsters surrounding and besieging his city many months ago. Evil existed in the world, and Anoth simply could not recognize it.

"So, he thinks this is just a cave?"

"He doesn't believe there's more to it. Now, I'm not one for fairy tales, but I think we've come to realize that Dwer is more than just a cave," Ibin said grimly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must gear up. I do intend to keep hunting treasure, even if it seems futile."

Will remained alone at the fire as Anoth continued shouting in the distance, traveling farther and farther away. Aeric had not woken yet and, thusly, Will was left to ponder his own problems while basking in the warmth of the crackling flames. He could only do that so long before he had to stand up, stretch his legs, and wake Aeric up.

The latter was still soundly asleep when Will came in to rouse him. The commotion in the camp clearly had no effect on him and he woke, drowsy and grumpy, when shaken vigorously by Will. The latter handed him a skin of water and then sat down within the tent, waiting for his boyfriend to fully wake up.

"Someone else went missing," Will informed him when he was wide awake.

"I thought I heard shouting," said Aeric. "How long ago?"

"A few hours, probably before the cooks even started breakfast," Will told him. "Ibin seemed particularly concerned."

"He has been, haven't you noticed?" said Aeric. "He's feeling regretful."

"Anoth says this is our last day. He's clearly bothered as well," Will said. And why shouldn't he be? Five men dying or going missing in the span of a single day was hardly anything to laugh at, particularly in Dwer. The price was one man, and one man only - it had always been that way, all of the old veterans insisted on that. If something had changed, then they were right to be worried.

"He still wants to go after that treasure, eh?" Aeric ventured, chuckling. "Well, that's what we're here for."

"Is it worth the risk, though?" asked Will, frowning. He had always been hesitant about venturing north on some snipe hunt for riches and treasure. Aeric had just barely managed to convince him that the expedition was worth their time, and now that hesitation was returning, compiled with anxiety and fear. He wanted to go back south, where he was at least marginally more comfortable.

"What else did we come here for?" asked Aeric, looking perturbed.

"But do you think it's worth going deeper?" Will wondered. "Is there _any _other way?"

"I'm not sure. But I'm willing to give this a shot. We're already here, and we've come this far, Will...and you told me you'd do this, if I promised you that we could return home."

He was right. Aeric had made a promise to abandon his own home and head with Will, as long as it meant they would work with Rikken and Anoth - even if they were stuck in Dwerhold for a month, or more, he still had to abide by his promise.

"You're right," Will admitted, swallowing the lump in his throat. "We...should press on."

"I know you don't-"

"I don't want to, but I should," Will said, smiling weakly. "It's the right thing to do. I made this decision, and I won't turn back on that."

"I intend to keep my promise too," Aeric assured him, smiling back. "We'll be out of here soon. And who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky."

The search parties all returned within the hour, empty-handed and completely at a loss for the fate of the missing expeditioner. Anoth forced himself to keep a straight face and remain unperturbed as he discussed plans for pushing further - it was clear Rikken was trying to retain the same facade, but he was slipping a little. Ibin didn't even bother, his face paling at the notion of delving deeper into the foundries.

"In light of recent events, if we have no finds today, we are turning back," Anoth declared, speaking to the entire party as it was assembled around the dying fire.

"So we just gonna abandon it then, eh?" asked someone in the back.

"If we must," said Rikken. "We're going to set up camp in the foundries tonight regardless, and leave for the entrance in the morning if we find nothing today." Anoth had planned the entire thing out, of course, but Rikken looked like he wanted to have a hand in the leadership so badly. He was jockeying with Anoth for space on the little wooden soapbox the latter was standing on.

"And if we do find something," said another voice, "what then?"

"We'll haul as much as we can out and come back for more," Anoth replied, with a dangerous gleam shining in his eye. "There's riches in this big damn cavern, I know it. We just have to find them."

The team seemed to cheer up somewhat after that. Fifty-seven hearty, well-armed men packed up their tents, stowed their sleeping rolls, boxed up food and abandoned their campsite, leaving nothing but embers, stones and assorted trash behind to mark their position. Lanterns blazing and candles lit, they departed the Second Level Plaza and took one of the great boulevards north, heading for the deeper foundries.

"This place has some strange beauty to it," Will muttered as he looked up, admiring the vast expanse of the ceiling carved out above them, nearly forty feet up.

"You starting to like it?" asked Aeric teasingly.

"Hardly. I'm not a cave person," Will said. "I had enough of caves in Swampheart."

"This is my first time, honestly. I mean, I've been underground, but...not like this," Aeric said, he too admiring the city. It _did _have some strange qualities to it that made it alternately frightening and beautiful. It was a dark, leviathanic labyrinth, but at the same time a wondrous work of mankind whose size Will could scarcely fathom.

"You think we're going to find something down here?" asked Aeric, waving his lantern at one of the abandoned hallways they passed. The light barely penetrated the long tunnel of darkness, and it exposed nothing but smooth, untouched rock.

"Could find anything, really," Will muttered, glancing nervously at the unlit corridors.

Aeric gave him a strange look for that, and he had to cover himself quickly.

"I mean...any kind of treasure. Not just silver, like Anoth said," Will added hastily.

"Yeah, heh, maybe...gold? Diamonds?" Aeric ventured.

"A boy can dream," Will snorted, laughing playfully.

"What's holding us up?" Aeric suddenly switched topic, tiptoeing to see above the group of men in front of him. Will realized then that the convoy had come to a halt, as if someone up front was having difficulties.

"Someone's stopped," Aeric said.

Anoth was looking down one of the side corridors, with Rikken at his side. They had spotted something of interest, and were furiously whispering with one another. Will, intrigued as to what they had found, tried to squirm his way through the crowd and step forward, but he found his progress blocked at every move.

"Don't push me, boy," warned one burly, one-eyed adventurer, cursing him thoroughly after he tried to squeeze past him. Will consigned himself to his position and watched anxiously as the two leaders deliberated in secret at the head of the column.

"What are they seeing?" Aeric asked, he too struggling to get a good view.

"I'll try to find out," Ibin promised, moseying his way from the middle of the group towards the front. The men parted for him, since he was a senior and an officer - Will begrudgingly waited as Ibin moved up to the front and asked what was wrong. Anoth clearly realized that he wasn't able to lie about the problem, and turned to his team.

"There's another party in here with us," Anoth announced to everyone, pointing down the tunnel he had been looking at. "Lights, that way."

"Could it be Thompson's party?" asked Ibin, now standing at the front. Hearing their words, Will suddenly felt ice running through his blood, and the urge to vomit immediately struck him. He had to lean on Aeric for support, and the later was taken aback when he felt his friend fall onto his shoulder.

"Could be," Anoth considered. "They've been missing, correct?"

"That could very well be them, on their way back. Or could be Rarik, maybe," Rikken suggested.

"Could be. The light's not moving, do you see?" Anoth pointed out, leaning over to Rikken. The latter leaned in, squinting as he tried to suss out the light's location again.

"I...uh-huh, it's still there," Rikken agreed.

"Maybe they see us?" someone up front suggested. There was now a tide of conversation at the front, as several people began suggesting courses of action or whispering amongst each other.

"Will, what's wrong?" Aeric asked, shouldering the burden that was his boyfriend.

"Those lights...it's the lights," said Will, struggling to speak. He was so overcome by fear now, a victim of his own paranoia, that he couldn't speak properly. Aeric now appeared very concerned, his cheeks blanching, and he looked as if he were trying to call to Ibin.

"If they see us, they might not recognize us," Rikken cautioned. "If it's our guy, we need to get him."

Anoth began to shout, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling down the tunnel. His powerful voice reverberated throughout the cavern and echoed mockingly, dying out without a reply from the stranger down the road. The light apparently failed to move, as Anoth called to it again and again, repeating himself.

"I need to see," Will said weakly, forcing himself onto his feet and pushing past one of the adventurers. Aeric struggled to keep up with him, their progress stymied by the mass of men awaiting their orders. Ibin seemed hardly surprised to see them at the front of the line, and barely noticed them as they arrived. Will poked his head around the corner of the building lining the left side of the street and peered down the long, dark boulevard.

In the distance, perhaps five hundred feet down the way, a single, unwavering light hovered in the darkness. It did not flicker, nor did it move at all, but remained in position almost robotically, as if it were held within a sconce instead of a living hand.

"Will, are you okay?" asked Aeric breathlessly, struggling to reach his friend. Anoth continued calling to the light, inquiring of its name and then inquiring only of its nature. Rikken remained silent, his eyes fixated on the tiny light and the bubble of darkness surrounding it.

"I...know what that is," Will whispered, daring to stare at the tiny, unswerving light. It looked almost exactly like the one he had seen the previous night.

"They must be a damned fool," Anoth swore, finally exhausting his voice. "Well, he-"

"It's moving!" Rikken exclaimed, pointing at the light.

It took a moment for Will to confirm that it was, indeed, moving. For a fleeting moment it appeared stable, and then it began to shrink back into the darkness, retreating from them for some reason. Anoth called after it, and he looked torn about what course of action to take.

"Whoever it is, they are leaving us," Rikken announced, urgently pushing Anoth to action.

"Let's go, let's go!" Anoth shouted, starting down the empty boulevard by himself. It took a moment for the others, led by Ibin, to follow him as he ran.

"Will, what is that?" Aeric asked as they ran, struggling to keep pace with the athletic adventurers around them.

"It's not a person," Will answered, sucking in damp cave air as he gasped for breath. They were now nearly sprinting, following Anoth still. Aeric seemed to pale a little at that reply.

The column pursued the light with vigor, Anoth leading them as they made their way to the left and followed the boulevard. The light kept moving, always maintaining the same distance from them even though their pace quickened. Will, feeling sick and frightened, had little choice but to follow the group as they rushed ahead. It was either stick with them, or find himself isolated in the suffocating darkness, his only company being the sickly little candle he held.

The light began to twist and turn, traipsing around corners and maintaining a torturously unwavering distance between itself and its pursuers. After two minutes of solid turning, the light came to a halt, not fifty feet from them, in a dark intersection. And then, it simply vanished.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Ibin shouted, bringing most of the party to a halt. Anoth, bearing his lantern, rushed ahead to the intersection but found nothing but blackness, with no trace of anybody left.

"What the bloody hell," Rikken swore, standing halfway between Anoth and the rest of their men.

"If this is a trick, there will be hell to pay!" Anoth roared, turning to his party. His shout echoed into the distance, tapering off into a laughing phantom of his original speech. Nobody responded to him.

"What was that?" someone in the group asked, prompting a few people to begin whispering and casting shady looks from side to side.

"I know what that was," Will whispered, turning to Aeric. He wanted to vomit, and he felt his stomach begin to churn. He had no idea where they were now.

"That wasn't human, was it?" asked Aeric, sweating while inhaling fiercely.

"I...saw-"

"This was a waste of time," Anoth snarled, stomping back to his team. "We need to get back on track."

"Do you remem-"

"Of course I remember," he replied, snipping Rikken's question in the bud. "I know how to do this. We take a right, then a right, then a left, and then go straight for about three hundred meters…"

As Anoth began detailing their progress backwards, he moseyed his way through the cluster of men and began leading them once more, holding his lantern aloft for all to see. Will, not wanting to be caught at the back of the column out of paranoia, scurried through the fifty-seven men and made his way towards the front.

It was soon clear that Anoth had been mistaken in his calculations. They were entering new sections of tunnel, old stone streets that had not seen human feet in centuries. Anoth and Rikken were at the head of the column, trying to figure out where to go, but it was clear that Anoth was becoming lost and, behind them, Ibin was losing his cool.

"I swear we've been here!" Ibin exclaimed, throwing a hand gesture at one of the vacant, darkened buildings lining the street.

"That looks like the same damn house we saw two blocks back," someone added. "We are going in circles."

"We are not going in circles," said Anoth, clenching his jaw. "We...we are lost, yes-"

"That's our problem! Who cares if we go in circles!?" Ibin exclaimed, eyes wide with anxiety. Even from a little farther back, Will could see the lantern light reflecting in his eyes, and exposing a chilling sort of fear.

"What is your point?" Anoth asked, squinting.

"What does it matter?" cried Ibin, exasperated. "We're already lost! We've been led off track by that damned man!" He looked to be frayed at the nerves, and out of control.

"If I find whoever led us astray, I will kill him with my bare hands," Anoth promised, speaking to all. "We need to stay focused."

It was supposed to act as a morale booster, but it was clear every man's spirits had been dented. Five missing or dead, and now they were lost - isolated within the cavernous reaches of Dwer. They had to get back.

"We're going to try and make for the foundries, still," said Anoth as he plodded ahead, leading them past dark alleyways and dilapidated market plazas. "I will not make this expedition a bust."

"Is that really the best course of action?" Ibin inquired nervously.

"I do believe it is, yes," Rikken said, reassuring his underling. "Anoth...Anoth knows what he's doing-"

"I do not know where we are, but I do know that, if we follow this course, we will eventually hit the foundries," Anoth declared. "It is certain."

Will wasn't so certain. They were truly, truly lost now, wandering the abandoned stone catacombs for several hours. His feet were beginning to cramp, he couldn't help stave off his paranoia of what wandered the halls beyond the reach of his candle's light, and when they made the transition from lifeless cityscape to a single, lateral stone tunnel, he knew something had gone wrong. They were no longer within the city.

It was another hour before they reached something of interest. The long tunnel had gone in only one direction, bereft of any side passages or turns to throw them further off track. For a short moment, Will actually thought they had reached their destination - ahead of him, he could see a large, somewhat illuminated room, and wondered if that could be the foundries they were so desperately seeking. His hopes evaporated, however, as he passed across the threshold.

They found themselves in a great cavernous chamber, seemingly natural and hardly touched by mankind besides a single, dubious-looking stone walkway bridging the two sides of the room. The gap must have been at least two hundred feet across, and perhaps the same distance in depth; at the bottom, fresh water pooled, fed by a small, capricious waterfall that tumbled about fifty feet down the slick limestone cliffs of the basin. Will would have been in awe, but this was nothing like the great descent he had seen upon entry, or the Causeway. It was almost boring to look at, really.

"This doesn't look right," Anoth mumbled, looking up at the great stalactites hanging from the ceiling. They sparkled with wet dew and tiny fissures of glistering minerals.

"Where should we be?" Ibin inquired.

"Not here. This looks more like a real cave, not something sculpted," Anoth said. "A map would be nice…"

"Maybe we should take a rest. Get our bearings?" Ibin suggested, looking weary. Thankfully, Anoth seemed to appreciate his suggestion, and the company fanned out along the plateau on their side of the bridge. It was large enough to hold all of them, besides a couple of men who crossed the nerve-wrackingly crumbly walkway to explore the other side.

Lunch was brought out of wicker baskets and served to the team - cold cheese and hard bread was not particularly appetizing, but it would serve for the time being. Will, possessing very little of any kind of appetite, plodded over to the edge of the cliff and sat down, feet dangling precariously over the basin of sparkling, splashing water. It was oddly beautiful, the waterfall's flow careening wildly over ridges and carapaces bursting out of the rock walls, crashing down into the splashing, frothing waters of the basin and swirling amidst craggy stalagmites and smooth, whetted rocks. The ceiling's limestone exuded tiny rivulets of water from small cracks in its surface, wetting and dampening the walls, and small veins of shimmering minerals reflected the glow of the fifty lanterns and candles far below.

Aeric arrived not long after Will took a seat, carrying with him a chunk of bread and a few slices of pale yellow cheese.

"Will, what's up?" Aeric asked, plopping down beside him and handing him a slice of the cheese. Will rejected it.

"I know what those things were," he said, shaking his head and looking down into the basin. He felt ill even still, having left the light hopefully far behind.

"The light?"

"Yeah...maybe even lights," Will pondered, wondering if there was one or many. He couldn't see who had been holding it - only the light source itself.

"As in more than one?" Aeric ventured.

Will recounted the entire story of his encounter the previous night with the unusual phenomenon beyond the camp. From start to finish, he told Will everything, keeping his voice low to ensure that nobody else could hear him. It was imperative, at least in his mind, that nobody else besides perhaps Anoth knew about this - he was apprehensive about the possible transmission of paranoia.

"It's the same thing that I saw last night. The same kind of light, I promise," Will said.

"What do you think it is, though?" Aeric asked.

"It's not a person!" Will whispered fiercely. "I...I really don't know what it is. But who, or what, would lead us astray and try to deceive us like this?" It was impossible to believe they had been led astray by sheer unfortunate circumstances. The light, and whoever retained it, clearly possessed malevolent intentions.

"I don't know what it is," said Aeric, "but maybe it's nothing to worry about?"

"I don't know…"

"Why don't you eat a little?" Aeric suggested. "We're going to be walking a lot today and tomorrow, you need some food."

Will, unable to combat his unruly stomach any longer, accepted a chunk of Aeric's bread and nibbled on it moodily, his eyes fixated on the splashing water below him. The sound and the sight of the flowing liquid was nearly entrancing, in an unusual way.

They sat for another half hour, mostly suppressed by silence. Very few members of the group spoke - the most prominent sound was the water in the basin. A few more men proceeded to the other side and took a look around on the opposing plateau, but most stayed with Anoth until he rose, determined to move on.

"Maybe we are close to the foundries. One can hope," said Aeric, rising. Will had eaten a little cheese with his bread, but his stomach was still rebellious - he needed hot food, something proper and solid. His psychological distress, coupled with the exhausting task of traipsing through endless cavern tunnels, had taken a toll on him over the morning, especially without any good food. Breakfast had been meagre at best.

"Did you get enough to eat?" Aeric asked, finishing off what little food he had.

"I can eat later," Will brushed him off.

"You sure?" said Aeric. "I'm just trying to take good care of you, don't take it the wrong way."

"I'll be fine, Aeric," Will promised, with his usual assuaging smile. "Hopefully we'll reach our destination soon, eh?"

Aeric smiled back, returning the gesture eagerly. It was clear that he was trying to alleviate the atmosphere of anxiety.

The bridge looked more dubious than ever, laced with cracks and riddled with fractures and missing chunks. Time, and perhaps the flow of water, had clearly taken its toll on this once useful crossing, and Will felt nervous taking the first step. He had decided to cross over before the others did, out of a desire to stay at the head of the column. Anoth was ensuring everyone crossed in single file, to prevent any incidents, and Will did _not _want to be at the back.

"I'll be right behind you," Aeric promised as Will stepped out onto the crosswalk.

"Must we go this way?" asked Will, frowning as he considered the churning pool underneath his feet.

"Well, ah, any other ideas you have?" Aeric asked honestly. Will had no answer, and began the treacherous crossing, telling himself not to look down. The crash of water against rock below reminded him constantly to keep his eyes level with the other side. The journey ended quicker than he imagined it would, though; it wasn't thirty seconds before he was safe on the other side, standing on solid rock. Aeric had been right behind him the entire time.

"Wasn't so bad, hunh?" Aeric asked, teasing him a little.

"Well, if we have to come back…" Will muttered.

"I get the feeling we won't. There will be another way," Ibin chimed in, having just finished his own crossing. He looked a little more confident in himself now, having eaten and rested up. Perhaps he bought into Anoth's theory that, no matter which direction they were going, they would end up at the mighty foundries eventually.

"Well, what if there isn't?" Will posited, desiring an alternative.

"I'm sure we can come back the way-"

Ibin did not finish his sentence before the crack reverberated throughout the room. Stone grated on stone and pebbles splashed in the basin, and before Will could turn around the back half of the bridge separated. There were at least thirty men standing on that portion when it broke, and of those about half of them were able to sprint to safety before gravity seized control and brought the broken portion careening down.

Anoth just barely made it before the collapse occurred. Fifteen members of the party went down with the giant chunk of fragmented stone and disappeared into the churning waters below. They had little time to scream before they hit the rocks or the water's surface, and suddenly the commotion was silent. There was still one man on the other side, one who had not decided to cross the bridge. Now separated from the rest of the party, he stared at the other side, his lantern the only source of light remaining over there.

It had all happened within the span of ten seconds. Will could barely grasp the situation at hand as the survivors still on the bridge raced for the other side, shouting and yelling madly and crying for help. Everyone who had survived the initial incident made it, except the man in the back. He slipped on a wet spot, lost his balance, and tripped over the edge, falling without a scream.

It all happened so quickly. Nobody spoke for a moment after that, not even Ibin. Will was positively distraught - for a moment, he felt like he would collapse, and it took all his strength to force his legs to remain steadfast. He wondered if this was all some awful fever dream.

"Head count, head count!" Anoth shouted, taking command. Rikken set to work counting the survivors, while Ibin stood in place, stunned. Only moments ago he had exuded a sense of confidence more befitting of Anoth than anyone else - only moments ago, he had been optimistic about the outcome of their expedition. Now he stood locked to the damp stone, his face pale and mouth half-agape, still looking back at the blank space where a bridge had once been.

"We stand at forty-one," Rikken replied, voice wavering. "Forty-one, sir-"

"The only way is forward. We must continue," Anoth declared decisively. He looked pale and worried as well, but he retained his facade of order and command even under pressure. Will, shaken and rendered speechless by the recent events, was impressed by that show of confidence.

"Should we not say a word for them?" Rikken asked, frightened once more.

"_Captain, captain!_" the isolated survivor shouted, struggling to be heard over the waters below. He remained on the other side, alone and separated, and Will felt a pang of horror for his fate. He would be left to himself now.

"Make that forty," Ibin whispered under his breath, grimacing.

"We'll try to link up with you!" Anoth shouted to the other survivor. "Trace your steps back! We'll find you!"

"Where should I meet you!?" the man called, but he went unanswered. Anoth turned away from him and barked at the column to keep moving. No prayers for the dead, no last words for them - Rikken did not complain, though. Neither did anyone else. Everyone had been sobered by their losses, and were not inclined to stay any longer. They had suffered far too much, with no payoff.

Will had no choice but to move on with them. Aeric was silent as he walked by his side, and even the chattier members of the party were quiet as they marched on. Casting one last look back at the man they left behind, Will could swear he saw other candles conglomerating behind him, inching ever closer to the isolated bubble of light they were leaving.

He could have sworn he saw figures moving closer, too. He couldn't stare any longer, though, and looked away. He did not want to know the poor man's fate.

VVVVV

Shandra was not keen to return to Edgar Branch, but she had to. The little old prune demanded her attention, and he had been invaluable to her financial needs over the past few weeks. Eventually she would be rid of him, but for now he was a necessary asset.

She squeezed into his dimly-lit, smelly office in the depths of the treasury, not terribly eager to make a return. The wiry little weasel of a man was filing through papers once more, poring over parchment and scribbled notes at a furious pace. Shandra was hoping he could find what he wanted quickly; she wasn't intent on remaining for long.

"I have your money," he announced rather plainly, handing her a clean slip of parchment. Some final calculations had been done on it, and the final tally was listed at the very bottom of the page. The number surprised Shandra; they had a surplus.

"Is this honest work?" she asked.

"As honest as I could do, my lady," Branch replied, shifting his spectacles on his greasy nose.

"I am pleased," Shandra admitted, her eyes slinking back to the appeasing five-digit number down in the corner. "This is more than I needed."

"I performed a few cuts here and there," admitted Branch, sniffling a little. "It was necessary."

"I believe you," Shandra said, pocketing the parchment. "So long as this money is real-"

"I assure you, my lady," said Branch, "you will find it. I will work with you if you'd like."

"You could just do the work for me...you _are _financier, after all," Shandra suggested. Branch did not appear eager to argue, or reject the proposal - it was his job, after all, to crunch the numbers and report his work to Shandra later. He shrugged and nodded his head in response.

"I give you my blessings for whatever you must do," Shandra said, "so long as that money is secured and prepared for our upcoming festivities."

"I will get back to you tomorrow on what I have. I must work, if that is the case," Branch said, and without even saying goodbye to her he returned to his work, pulling out a dull little quill and jotting down a few notes. Shandra could no longer stand the smell of his office, and decided it was time for her to leave.

She wouldn't need Edgar Branch for long. She just needed that money dredged up, and _soon_.

He had one week to do it - given the work he had put in so far, she had no doubt he could accomplish the job. As long as he took care of everything before his untimely _accident_, everything would go just fine.

Sir Stephan was waiting for her. Standing at the entry door to the treasury, looking rather bored, the loyal knight nodded at her as she approached, acknowledging her presence wordlessly.

"Where is he now?" asked Shandra, turning to the knight as she pulled the heavy oaken door open.

"One of the city taverns," he informed her, "down by the River District. Anthony's, the place is called-"

"Not a place of repute, I know that. Stay close to me," Shandra ordered, sharply turning from him and departing the treasury room. He followed wordlessly, his shimmering little pendant clinking against his armor.

It was still early in the morning as they walked the streets at a brisk pace, heading for the grit and grime of the River District. Without guards standing sentry on street corners, the city felt empty and almost hostile, devoid of security. Shandra silently cursed Simeon's name for the thousandth time and proceeded to quicken her pace, wishing to take care of this dirty business all the sooner.

Anthony's was a small, dilapidated thatch and stone hovel that served ale and little else. The wooden timbers supporting the tavern's framework were rotting away, the planks of the building's facade were crumbling, and the door was riddled with pockmarks and termite damage - yet the building still stood. It looked absolutely downtrodden and depressingly squat, but it remained despite its state. Shandra made a mental note to never return after her business here was finished.

A few heads turned to acknowledge the new arrivals, but otherwise the tavern was silent and restful. It was mostly empty, too; besides a few drunks passed out in single booths, and a few quiet conversations ongoing in the back corner, the building was vacant, which Shandra was glad for.

"He'll be waiting for us in one of the private rooms," Sir Stephan informed her. "I've arranged this with the bartender, so we're good."

"Take me back," Shandra ordered, catching an unappreciated whiff of stale ale and sweat. Sir Stephan led the way back past the common room and down a narrow, dark corridor to where the private rooms were.

Their meeting room was a tiny place, barely fit for anything besides being used as a storage closet. A single table with a single dying candle decorated the room - there was only one rickety wooden chair, and it was already occupied.

"What's your name?" Shandra questioned.

"My name's not important," the man replied. "What's important is that you pay me, and I do my job. That's how this works."

"He's an assassin, of sorts. Marksman with a crossbow, is that correct?" asked the knight.

The unnamed man nodded his head affirmatively. He looked to be in his forties, with scraggly tan facial hair, a thick brow, sharp, pointed nose and protruding overbite. Heavyset and balding, he had the build of a brawler rather than an assassin.

"Have you been informed of your job?" Shandra inquired leerily.

"I know the rough details," the assassin said. "I was told I would receive my payment first, and then the minutia would come later."

"Pay him," Shandra ordered, wiping sweat from her forehead. Sir Stephan withdrew a small purse and tossed it across the table, where it landed in the assassin's greedy hands. The man pocketed the purse after a brief inspection of its contents, and he appeared rather satisfied.

"So you want a man dead. Where, when, and how?" he asked.

"The Keep Square, two in the afternoon, crossbow. Keep a low profile, find a hiding place, and don't let anybody catch you," Shandra ordered.

"Pure and simple. I like it," the assassin mused. "However...the man you want dead-"

"I am aware of the circumstances. What I need to know is, can you do it?"

"I can," he said. "Provided my security is ensured."

That one condition could be the ruin of her entire plan. She was considering disposing of the assassin once his job had been finished - no witnesses, no telltales, nothing to disrupt her. She could _lie_, of course, and promise him false security…

"I will ensure of it. Your safety is guaranteed," she promised. A promise she could break just as easily as one would snap a toothpick - she had the advantage here, not him.

"Then we are done here?" he inquired, looking eager to be out of the spotlight again.

"I need to know where you plan to be for the week, too," Shandra added. She could not risk him disappearing, not now that the payment had been delivered - she needed to know his whereabouts. He had a week to lounge around town before his day came.

"I will be around. I room here, I wander the city, I keep a low profile. Any problems?" he asked, laying out his simple agenda. Shandra paused and mused over the possibility of him lying, or of her being deceived - both seemed unlikely, and she trusted Sir Stephan's word. The knight had vouched for his skill.  
"None," Shandra decided. "I expect to see you back here Saturday."

With that, they departed, leaving their little pawn now swimming in gold and enjoying his newfound job. Shandra did not dare speak with her escort until they reached the safety of the city keep, surrounded by armored knights keeping watch over the great plaza and the preparations being made for her festival.

"I do not intend to let him live," said Shandra as soon as they entered the empty assembly hall.

"I had the feeling you wouldn't…"

"He's too dangerous once the job's done. After he kills Branch, I want him disposed of," she ordered, plotting out the next week's events in her head. Things had to be done the right way.

"Must Branch die?" Stephan questioned.

"They must _both _die," she reiterated sternly. "Branch must die for martial law, and the assassin must die to keep him quiet. Clear, yes?"

"Clear, but maybe not the most sensible," Stephan mumbled, looking unusually perturbed.

"I didn't hire you to debate me," Shandra reminded him."I have something else in mind for you."

Sir Stephan waited patiently for Shandra to reach one of the conference rooms, where they were finally able to speak intimately and without outside observation.

"I need you to go down to B'aileth. It will be a long journey, I know," she informed him, handing him a small purse full of gold coins.

"What's there for me?" he asked.

"Nothing for you, but something for me," she replied. "I need a potioneer. And not one of those county fair hacks...a real potioneer. A brewer."

"And...you want me-"

"To find one. Anywhere. B'aileth is awash with dark and dangerous types, and that's exactly the kind of person I need. Can you do it?" she asked.

There was no way Sir Stephan could refuse the offer - it was his job to serve the High Lord and Lady, and he could not reject whatever they handed him. As apprehensive as he looked about the prospect of entering such a colorful and dangerous city, he accepted the job.

"You leave as soon as Branch and our little hireling are dead. Clear?"

He did not answer, only nodding his head. Shandra dismissed him and sat down to write out a eulogy for Edgar Branch. She needed more than one draft for something this important.

VVVVV

Matt ruminated on the notion of being an adult and, having considered it carefully and having applied some deep thought to the matter, decided he would rather remain seventeen forever, as cliche as it may sound.

He took another swig from the wine bottle and set it aside, deciding it was finally time to get up. Dawn had already risen above Stallhart and, being the liege lord of the little castle, he needed to be up and ready to tackle the day's tasks.

Sora had not yet returned, and he was afraid she would end up missing his birthday. To turn eighteen, and transcend adolescence into the realm of adulthood, was something Matt considered major, and he did not want Sora to miss it. She was likely asleep back on Earth, wherever she might be; one of Matt's days was but a mere hour for her. He was hoping that, in the three days before he finally turned eighteen, she would return to Stallhart and be there to celebrate with him.

There was certainly nobody else to celebrate with him. Throwing on some grubby clothes and exiting his quarters, he found nobody awake besides the local housemaid, Sarah Lancaster, and she was busy sweeping ashes away from the fireplace in the dining hall. Her vice-employer was nowhere to be seen, most of the guardsmen were likely off-duty today, and Sergeant Stellmeier had come down with a rather nasty stomach bug, which rendered him unfit to work or even walk. The castle, even on its gloomiest days, had never felt so lonely as it had that morning.

It took a lot of willpower to prevent himself from returning upstairs and taking another swig or two from the wine bottle. The warm, reassuring embrace of the alcohol calmed him, gave him energy, and seemed to dispel any black spirits that constricted him. Without Sora, he was nearly tempted to polish off what remained of the vintage bottle - however, he decided it would give him nothing but a raging hangover when the effects wore off. He opted to go without it, for the time being.

He had to pay a visit to the sergeant before he could do anything else. His morning routine would be relatively short - visit Stellmeier, visit Tolthor, speak with the scout - but it would likely be quite taxing. Stellmeier would be very ill, and the matter of Ablyn Cullen, the Thellden deserter who had expressed nothing but pure vitriol for his lieges, had to be handled carefully.

Stellmeier was resting in his bedchambers, on the basement level of the keep. The basement level, normally used for storage and for prisoners, also housed a small part of the guard force, as well as the sergeant, who apparently preferred dank and damp quarters to something perhaps more comfortable. Matt had the nagging feeling that the chilly atmosphere of the claustrophobia-inducing basement corridors was the underlying cause of the sergeant's sickness, but he could not be sure about that, and neither could Brudina Tolthor. They needed a real physician, not a herbalist - the latter could only make rudimentary cures and potions. A legitimate physician, or perhaps even a contemporary doctor, would be preferable.

The sergeant definitely needed something more than a few crushed herbs. His room stank something awful; when Matt opened the door, he was nearly overwhelmed by the odor of liquid feces and stomach contents. The sergeant lay on his cot, pale and lifeless, a bucket on one side and a jug of water on the other. A single retainer, a young woman no older than thirteen, sat in the corner, glancing nervously between the two men as Matt entered to speak with the bedridden commander.

"How're you feeling?" Matt asking, wrinkling his nose as the stench hit him again. The servant girl did not move from her chair as Matt approached his bed.

"Awful," the sergeant gasped, barely able to speak. He opened his eyes, and Matt could see life there, but the man was clearly wracked by his illness and was definitely unable to attend to his duties. The room was lit only by a single candle resting on the nightstand, one that cast an ominous aura over the ill man.

"I thought I'd come-"

"I apologize," he wheezed, struggling to summon his voice. "My lord...for the…"

"There is nothing to apologize for," Matt promised, subtly backing away a little to avoid any of the infection himself. "You are alright."

"Keep order," asked Stellmeier, wincing as he struggled to shift his body a little. Matt could barely stand the smell of the shit in the nearby bucket, and felt guilty for wanting to leave as soon as possible. The young servant girl could hardly be any good company, and the sergeant had been confined to this horrid chamber for two days. He needed a little human contact.

"Keep order?"

"Don't...let things...fall apart," Stellmeier said. "Take care."

That was all the withered old man could muster. He needed his rest, and Matt understood that his presence would do little to strengthen him - he needed to leave, and take care of the keep's duties by himself. That included keeping Castiron in his sights.

Teleraemon was preparing to depart for a scouting run, and Matt needed to give him some orders. He had to keep Castiron Hill under his watch - if they made a move, he needed to know.

"How's the Sergeant?" asked Teleraemon, fastening his scabbard to his hip.

"He's not looking good," Matt replied. "I'm afraid we're gonna have to work without him."

"Well, good thing that's your job, eh my Lord?" Teleraemon jested.

"That's not funny." Matt, hardly amused, walked with the scout out of the keep, escorting him through the keep's yard as they went about their duties.

"If you need me, I'm going to be at Brudina Tolthor's, just to check on the injured, and then I'm heading back here," Matt informed him. "I'm going to need you to stay around Castiron today, and maybe probe a bit."

"What should I be looking for?" Teleraemon asked.

"Anything suspicious or noteworthy," said Matt. "I don't like being taken off guard."

"Yeah, that's probably unpleasant. Probably," Teleraemon quipped.

"I'm hoping Ablyn Cullen can tell me something," Matt said, "but I still don't trust him yet. I'll talk to him today, and see."

"You should probably talk to Coggins, too," Teleraemon suggested.

"What about Coggins?" Matt asked, wincing at the mention of the missionary. They were entering the town now, heading down the dirt slope of the keep's hill.

"Well, I saw him earlier, after his daybreak sermon," Teleraemon replied. "Seemed quite upset and frightened, by the looks of it, although I chalk that up to the fact that he's a fucking loon."

"And is that supposed to be important to me?" Matt inquired.

"Well, it could be-"

"What business of mine is it?" Matt asked.

"The missionary just seemed rather concerned when I ran into him. Perhaps you ought to stop by, just to be safe?" Teleraemon suggested. Matt had little interest in speaking with Jonathan Coggins again, but the missionary could not be ignored, especially considering the following he had stirred up amongst the townsfolk. A man with such charisma and power as he, one who had converted dozens of agnostics within the span of a few weeks, could not be shrugged off.

"I will do so, afterwards," Matt decided finally.

"I will return by dusk," Teleraemon promised as they reached Brudina's place. "Don't have too much fun without me."

"Do we ever have fun here?" asked Matt. The question, rhetorical at best, went unanswered by Teleraemon. The scout hastily made his way for the town's gate, leaving Matt to enter the quaint little herbalist shop alone.

Brudina's shop was empty, besides Arthur the assistant standing behind the counter. He seemed a little less leery of his liege lord this time around, having gotten somewhat acquainted with him, and upon Matt's command he rushed into the back to retrieve Brudina. She hurried up to the counter quite quickly, eager to engage her overlord.

"How are they?" Matt asked after she had given her greetings.

"Nobody's going to die, that's for certain. I do like it when no one dies," she said, leading him back past the counter.

"What about Cullen?" asked Matt.

"Oh, him?" Brudina quipped. "Remarkable recovery...I keep his door double locked now, out of fear-"

"I'd like to speak with him, if I can," Matt said. The notion of a remarkable recovery, as she put it, was interesting. He needed Ablyn Cullen.

"Oh, well, I suppose I can't stop you," she said. "But just be careful, m'lord. He may be trouble."

"I can handle him," said Matt. Brudina handed him the keys and hustled off again, eager to organize her stock and tend to any injured. Matt undid the lock and made his way in, and he found Ablyn Cullen sitting on his bed, looking rather bored.

"You seem to be feeling better," Matt commented, closing the door behind him.

"Well, I won't lie, that's true," Ablyn admitted. He looked far more hale and hearty now, even though he was still supposed to be resting in bed. The injury had been cleaned, tended, and patched by Brudina Tolthor, and it looked as though the infection had nearly vanished from his body.

"Why'd you come here?" Ablyn asked after a brief silence.

"I need your help."

"You need _my _help?" said the man, as if surprised. "Mine?"

"You said yourself that you have no love for Thellden," Matt said. "And Thellden just happens to be my enemy."

"What would you have me do?" asked Ablyn, treading carefully. "And why should I trust you?"

Matt was at a loss to answer to that challenge. He realized, now, that he had to present himself as an unwavering authority figure - and he was failing.

"Because you have no other choice," Matt said, hoping it would be enough to move Ablyn. The latter did not flinch, but he did seem to consider the possibility.

"I have nowhere to go," he admitted. "This is true."

"And I have accepted you into my hold, despite your potentially dangerous nature," Matt reminded him.

"So what would you have me do?" Ablyn asked, becoming frustrated. "Am I to be a slave to you?"

"You have a choice in this," Matt said. "But I do need your help."

"Speak, then."

Matt spoke honestly. He needed Ablyn's help in not only managing Stallhart, but taking a stand against Castiron Hill. The Thellden stronghold, the only other castle in the county, was bound to cause more trouble soon - the attack on the innocent peat cutters down by the Roanshire bogs was likely only the beginning. Matt needed to act, and quickly.

"They will not accept any diplomacy from me," Ablyn warned him. "I am a traitor."

"That is why I am trying to accept you," Matt said.

"I will do what I can, but you have to trust me," said Ablyn.

"That is easier said than done."

Ablyn did not seem bothered. "Are we done here?" he asked, seemingly eager to return to solitude.

"For now," Matt said. "I will return tomorrow, and see if you can be checked out. If so, you will stay in the keep. Any concerns?" he asked.

Ablyn said nothing, but he bowed his head, inclining perhaps out of respect. Matt closed the door behind him and locked it with Brudina's keys. He was eager to get back to the keep and perhaps get some more to drink, maybe ease his worries a little. This, of course, was impossible when you lived in the same town as Jonathan James Coggins.

The missionary, followed by Teleraemon, was already making his way inside Brudina's shop when Matt was preparing to leave. Matt could barely believe his eyes when he met Coggins' gaze, and at that moment he wanted only to vanish without a trace.

"He pretty much begged me to take him here," Teleraemon grumbled, already attempting to leave. "He's all yours-"

Matt wanted to chew Teleraemon out for that, but he had no time. Coggins was already at the counter.

"My Lord, I heard you were here, your faultlessly noble servant told me you had business here, and, well…"

Matt silently reminded himself that he would curse Teleraemon later. The bastard had led Coggins right to him, without a second thought.

"You seem to have had an issue," Matt began, hoping this would be terminated quickly.

"It is that Delwin Saythe, my Lord, I swear it is," Coggins said, sweat beading on his meaty forehead as he spoke. "I know you've put me off about this before, but you must hear me out!"

Matt waited patiently, listening to Coggins' speech. Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, he forced himself to stand there and hear the grievances being aired, all in the name of his noble title.

"He, personally, attacked me!" claimed Coggins. "All I did was ask him an honest question, something pertaining to my own sermon, and then he _slapped _me!" The man made vivid hand gestures to accompany his tale. "I inquired of him why he was being violent, and he tried to intimidate me into leaving town. I said 'I will not, sir!', and was rewarded with more violence!"

"Are there any witnesses to this?" asked Matt, suspicious. Coggins had stirred up quite a congregation in town, and Saythe may not like that. It was entirely likely that the Herobrinists, feeling threatened, were plotting behind Matt's back.

"Er...I'm afraid there are likely to be no witnesses, my lord," Coggins admitted, bowing his head. "My flock had already departed and I was simply minding my own business after the sermon when the attackers approached me. Unless some noble hidden Samaritan was watching the blows fall, I'm afraid I can produce no witnesses."

That admission was enough to give Matt trouble - Coggins and Saythe were clearly in some sort of conflict with one another. Although Matt suspected Saythe of stirring up more trouble, he didn't entirely trust Coggins either. If he had his way, both of them would be gone.

"There's probably nothing I can do for you," said Matt.

"My Lord, I know you have little witness, but I promise you, Delwin Saythe is a dangerous man!"

"What would you have me do?" Matt asked, leery.

"Punish him, my lord," Coggins insisted. "Punitive measures!"

"With no evidence presented?" Matt inquired, struggling with how he was going to handle this.

"You know him and his cult very well, my lord. He has every reason to strike at something he fears," Coggins warned. "I implore you, do something."

Coggins seemed to be in genuine fear for his life, given the tone of his voice; Matt suddenly felt pity for him, and realized if Delwin Saythe and his gang were to get away with this act of violence, they might be empowered to attempt something on a larger scale. Matt had always been uncomfortable with the cult's existence in town, despite Saythe's reassurances that they would be no harm - the temple had been stifling and unnervingly dark, and Saythe's flock seemed quite unruly. Despite the man himself being fairly civil, there was nothing civilized about his congregation.

"I will speak to him," said Matt, caving in to Coggins' demands. "But no more, until I have heard his story."

"God bless you, my lord," Coggins said. "I promise you, you will find something."

"I will not have any prejudices here," Matt warned him.

"You are a wise and noble man, my lord. I rest assured that you will take the correct course of action."

The _corruptor_ was likely in his hidey-hole, underneath the tiny temple situated at the back of a dark, dirty alleyway. Matt, feeling rather vulnerable now he was alone, knocked on the small, flat wooden door, careful to avoid rapping on the symbols carved into the wood. It was a hot minute before someone opened the door, and he was greeted with the wild, unshaven visage of Abu Drusi ar-Raqqawi.

"Good morning, sir," Matt greeted him, wincing visibly at the sight of Raqqawi's tangled mane of hair and matted beard. "I need to speak with your...corruptor."

Raqqawi did not respond, but he did hold the door open to allow Matt entrance into the smoky interior of the squat temple. The smell of mildew and mold was stifling and Matt held his breath as he followed Raqqawi past the rows of crude pews, which held only two worshippers gazing rapt at the small, primitive idol standing on its pedestal at the head of the room. Matt felt as though those two white eyes carved into the statue were following him, and was quite relieved that Raqqawi had a mercifully quick pace. He left the stench of the worship chamber behind and entered Delwin Saythe's subterranean lair.

"Lord Cook visits," said Raqqawi, laconically introducing Matt into Saythe's office. The latter sat at his simple desk, looking over some letters by candlelight. He looked rather pleased to see Matt, and dismissed his lieutenant quite quickly, eager to get down to business. Matt, too, did not dawdle or waste time; he told his story, striking straight to the point, and gave Saythe a chance to defend himself.

"I spoke to Mr. Coggins this morning, yes," Saythe explained, but I was not violent nor physical with him."

"You did not strike him?"

"I did not do that, m'lord," Saythe said, without a hint of fear or panic in his voice. "It would be unnecessary. Herobrine did not will me to use violence to achieve his means, and therefore I did not."

Matt was nearly certain the man was lying; despite the lack of proof, he had a hunch that Saythe had, in fact, inflicted physical harm upon the missionary - or, more likely, had ordered his lieutenant to perform the dirty work.

"What proof can you give me? What evidence?"

"Ask any man or woman in this temple if I would strike a man without declaring corruption upon him," Saythe said. "I did not declare corruption upon Mr. Coggins, and I did not attack him. He is lying to you."

That was hardly evidence, or proof, but Matt was tired of pursuing the matter - he was not eager to become embroiled in whatever sort of feud the two had. Coggins was likely the victim in the case, but Matt was not about to declare him innocent; he would simply watch the Herobrinists more closely, and if Coggins claimed violence again, then he would know something was up.

"Is that all, then?" Saythe said, sounding disappointed.

"That is all. Good day to you, Mr. Saythe."

"And a good day to you, m'lord," Saythe replied. Matt stood up and left the dingy little office, but not before Saythe tried to accost him again.

"You should visit more often," he called. "I would be delighted to speak to you and perhaps explain the virtues of chaos!" He did not receive a response. Matt did not reply to him, nor did he even stop walking; he clambered back up to the ground floor and hurriedly made his way out of the temple, eager to be back to the safe confines of the keep.

Much of the day went smoothly after that, until Riley Eston approached him that evening. The keen diplomat, who had been keeping a low profile lately, had finally made her voice heard when she approached Matt in the hallway after sunset.

"Lord Cook," she said, bowing stiffly to him as they met. "I've been working, and thinking."

"As have we all," Matt quipped dryly.

Riley Eston frowned at that, but she continued with determination.

"We need to engage in diplomacy. I've heard the news from Skagway and Roanshire, about the attacks," Eston said.

"Yes, we're at war-"

"There may be a war going on, but _we_, as neighbors, can perhaps negotiate a ceasefire," Eston suggested. "There is no harm in that. Both will benefit."

"So, what do you want me to do?" Matt asked, wondering where she was going.

"I'm suggesting that you lead an envoy to Castiron Hill, and bring me with you," Eston said.

"You want to talk to the people who are actively engaged in trying to kill us?"

"That is what diplomacy is most of the time, yes," she replied.

Eston had a fair point. Matt wanted to avoid a war as much as the next guy - with Sora absent, dealing with Stallhart was bad enough as is. He didn't want to have to lead troops if Castiron Hill decided to launch an attack tomorrow.

"I think that's a good idea," Matt decided, with some tinge of uncertainty. He was definitely apprehensive about the notion of strolling up to his enemy's gate and asking for a little chat, but he couldn't deny that the act of diplomacy had some value to it.

"There are better ideas, and worse ideas," Eston admitted. "But we must try. Can we take this conversation to the map?"

She led Matt to the keep's quintessential topography room, hurrying at quite a brisk pace. Matt, following her silently, wondered where the _fuck_ the diplomat had been all this time - he had not seen her around the castle. Had she been quite literally living under a rock ever since arriving?

Teleraemon was already inside the topography room, making small markings on one of the maps as he usually did. When he spotted the entrants, he bowed ever so slightly, expressing the most minute amount of respect possible as his lordship entered.

"My lord, I've been taking some notes and doing some observations, and I noticed some troops movements today. Unusual stuff," Teleraemon announced.

"We were just discussing that, in a way," Matt said.

"Ah, Castiron Hill seems to to be the main issue of the time," the scout said.

"For good reason," Matt said.

Teleraemon and Eston stood by him as he looked over the main map, his eyes wandering to the point demarcating Castiron Hill. He had never seen the keep before - apparently, unlike Stallhart, it was built out of carved stone, and its walls were too. That made it a far more menacing issue to be dealing with.

"The approach is pretty flat, and the castle is elevated. You'll have a difficult time establishing a perimeter, much less launching a siege," Teleraemon explained, describing the topography to Matt.

"A siege wasn't my intention," Matt said. Teleraemon seemed more interested in starting a war than extending an olive branch of diplomacy. That was why he had brought Riley Eston - the diplomatic attache could do what nobody else could.

"I suppose you intend to establish a dialogue?" Eston asked.

"As best as we possibly can," Matt agreed with her.

"I don't think that Lord Pendleton is much interested in talking," Teleraemon quipped. "He seems to be more interested in murdering peat cutters."

"I believe it's worth a shot," Matt said. "Is it?" He turned to Eston for that answer. She seemed to be pondering the possibilities presented to her.

"I agree, but you ought to let me do the talking. We must tread carefully with this matter," she finally decided.

"Aye," Matt agreed. "Teleraemon, I'll expect you to come with me."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," the scout said.

"And Lord Steadwin?" Eston asked.

That gave Matt pause. Avery Steadwin, the pretentious little heir to this shitty little castle town...now what kind of trouble could _that _bring?

"Lord Steadwin...ah…"

"No offense, Lord Cook, but Lord Steadwin is the _rightful _claimant on Stallhart. You simply serve as a regent," Eston reminded him.

"So you want him to come with us?" Matt asked.

"It can't hurt," Eston said.

"Well, it can, in a few ways...ah, I can think of at least a dozen," Teleraemon said. Nobody heeded his joke.

"He will come with us, but you will do the speaking. I will not have him engage unless you give him permission," Matt decided, hoping to dodge any problems with that kind of declaration.

"I will use my discretion in that matter," Eston promised.

_I hope for all our sakes that you know what to do_, Matt thought. Riley Eston was a diplomat, yes, and she knew how to bend and manipulate words to her whim better than anyone else - but Avery Steadwin was dangerous. He was prone to becoming heated when engaged, and that could spell trouble if he were part of the envoy to Castiron Hill.

"Will you tell him this, then?" Matt asked as they prepared to disengage.

"Tell him...what?" Eston asked.

"That we're bringing him along?"

Riley Eston provided him with a curious look, one of surprise.

"I figured you would do that, my lord," Eston said.

"I'd prefer not to," Matt admitted, feeling a bit guilty for that. "For reasons."

Riley Eston did not question him. She picked up on his implications, and turned away, off to bring the news to Avery Steadwin. Matt wanted no interactions with the rebellious teenager, and would avoid him as much as possible - it was simply too much work to try to build a relationship with Avery Steadwin.

He needed more to drink before he could even begin to try.

VVVVV

As it was customary, Sora started her day with four Advil and a hot, steamy thirty minute shower, courtesy of Arianna's wonderful bathroom. The pain pills kicked in by the time she was finished cleaning and, after dressing and saying goodbye to the three girls, she departed for the city with Yu Jin by her side. They would stay the night at Yu Jin's house, and then head for Dan's place the next morning to return to the sim.

"Smells like rain," Yu Jin said, making small talk as they strolled past some of the impressive mansions of Redmond.

"Welcome to Seattle, eh?" Sora replied.

"I almost forgot how much it rained here," said Yu Jin. "Like, every day, pretty much."

They caught the bus into Bellevue and made for the business district, which played host to a variety of cafes, coffee shops, clothing stores, and miniature malls. Having been trapped within feudal hell for weeks, Sora was almost happy to be returning to a different kind of hell, this one consumerist and capitalist. The bright neon lights, crowded parking lots, and busy highways were a welcome sight after endless months of thatch houses, stone walls, and marching armies.

They found their way to the nearest Starbucks, a haven for teenagers seeking the delicious luxury of free wi-fi, and ordered a few drinks before finding a comfortable place to sit.

"We need to return by noon tomorrow, I think," said Sora as they adjusted themselves into the booth adjoining the cafe window.

"That soon?"

"Well, yeah...remember how fast time flies in there?" said Sora.

"I mean, can't we afford to stay another extra day?" asked Yu Jin, looking troubled.

"It's already been almost two weeks there. That's a long time, Yu Jin," Sora reminded her.

"Yeah, but...do we have to leave so quickly?"

Sora frowned at the notion of staying for much longer, but her attitude perked up again when their drinks were prepared and they were able to indulge in the bliss of caffeinated mochas. For all of its consumerist propaganda and disgustingly capitalist schemes, Sora adored Starbucks simply because she adored mochas.

"Can we at least get some boba and tea before we leave?" asked Yu Jin.

"Ehhh, maybe," Sora pondered. "I want to get to your house quickly. I'm not keen on staying out too long."

"Soraaaaaa…"

"Ugh, are you really gonna do that to me?" she said.

"A little more time here can't hurt you. What's the big deal?" Yu Jin asked, sipping her drink carefully.

Sora had to admit, she did have a point - a little more time shopping and meandering, nothing important at all, could help ease her stress and relax her aching body. She could see her parents one last time, although she doubted that it would be a good idea; they would be horrified at the notion that she was returning, even though she could legally do so.

"You're quite convincing," said Sora, rolling her eyes at her as she developed a big grin on her face.

"We've missed a lot, and we need to catch up," Yu Jin said, now excited. "Music? Books? Any of that? Let's go!"

"It's worth checking out. Not too long though, okay?" Sora warned her. That seemed to cheer Yu Jin up a little. She hastily finished off her drink as they prepared to hop across the parking lot to the local bookstore chain.

It had been a long time since either of them had seen a book not bound in leather and made of parchment. The freshest, most popular titles in thrillers and young adult fiction were presented at the front of the store, while an endless assortment of other genres filled the room from front to back. Sora eagerly dived in and explored while Yu Jin remained fixated on one particular subsection, quite disappointingly.

"Hunger Games is dead, Yu Jin," Sora reminded her.

"Not to me!" she declared triumphantly. "If Collins is still writing, then-"

"It's not even Collins anymore. Some trash kid who ghostwrites. Don't get your hopes up," Sora said.

"As long as they make a movie, I'll be happy," Yu Jin said, stubbornly refusing to tear herself away from her favorite titles. Sora knew buying something would be pretty pointless, but she settled on what looked like a cute little romance novel, minimalistically decorated and no longer than a hundred pages. It looked like an intriguing and heartwarming story, but the poem on the inside flap was what caught her eye.

_**I would rather be ashes than dust!**_

_**I would rather that my spark should burn out,**_

_** in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot.**_

_**I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom**_

_** of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.**_

_**The function of man is to live, not to exist.**_

_**I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.**_

_**I shall use my time.**_

The poem struck some chord with her, of what she could not say. It was almost haunting, the way the words were utilized and laid out on the page - 'Jack London's _Credo_', it was called, and Sora immediately desired to purchase the book, if only for that little poem.

"You chose _that_?" exclaimed Yu Jin, bemused by Sora's choice of literature.

"It looked interesting. It's got a cool poem-"

"Yeah, but it looks like a boring old romance book," Yu Jin scoffed at her. "There's much better stuff out there."

"I like it, and it's cheap," said Sora."Let's go checkout. I feel like we're wasting time."

Yu Jin did not stall any further and they purchased their books rather quickly. She had picked up half a dozen young adult novels and popular thrillers, which was just fine - Sora would settle for her beat up little novella.

They caught the bus just before noon, rendering them on their way to Yu Jin's house. Sora had never seen the inside, or the outside - or anything of Yu Jin's, really.

"Are you eager to get back tomorrow?" asked Sora as they took their seats and the bus, relatively empty at this hour of the day, took off.

"No, fuck that," Yu Jin said. "I mean, I suppose I _have _to, being employed and all…"

"Hey, I'll treat you good," Sora promised with a smile. "Feudalism sucks, man. Don't let the system get you down."

"Easier said than done, huh?" said Yu Jin.

The bus hit a pothole and jarred both of them into silence, which held for a brief several seconds before Yu Jin, looking a little jittery, spoke again.

"You eager to get back to him?"

"Who, Matt?" said Sora. She had zoned out briefly and wasn't paying attention when Yu Jin spoke again.

"Well, yeah," she said. "I suppose...you kinda missed him?"

"It's only been a day and a half, really," Sora said. "He'll miss me more than I miss him."

"Yeah, ah, I suppose," Yu Jin agreed.

"What's up?" asked Sora, noticing something amiss. "Why'd you ask?"

"I was just curious," she said, sounding a little defensive. "I don't know...how you two…"

"There's no major problems," Sora said. That, of course, was a lie - but they could deal with the truth about their relationship at a later date. "He's a good fit for me."

"That's kind of surprising, actually!" Yu Jin exclaimed.

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, yes," Yu Jin continued. "In all honesty, he just...he just didn't seem like your kind of guy, when I first heard about him, ya know?" She was starting to blush, and seemed to be regretting her conversation.

Sora wanted to prod her forward, if only to try and understand where she was going. "I think I follow," she said, after a brief and awkward pause. "Please, go on."

"No offense-"

"None taken, but I want to hear what you're trying to tell me," Sora said. She was feeling a little uncomfortable, but she could handle that for now. Yu Jin seemed hesitant to continue, but she did so while lowering her voice to prevent any eavesdropping.

"He strikes me as dangerous," she admitted.

"Matt? Dangerous?" scoffed Sora, rolling her eyes at the prospect.

"Well, he's...kind of troubled, isn't he?" Yu Jin asked.

"Sort of, but _dangerous_?" said Sora. "He wouldn't hurt a fly unless he sat on it."

"Hah, well, I suppose…"

"You don't have to be concerned about him. I have him under control," Sora promised. That wasn't entirely true, either; the lies were beginning to stack up there. She felt uncomfortable about telling untruths to Yu Jin, but she didn't want to delve into the complications of her relationship at that instant.

"Why are you worried about him?" asked Sora, probing further. Yu Jin had given up her questions rather quickly, but she didn't hesitate to answer.

"Oh, well, I guess it's 'cause I worry about you," she said.

"There's nothing to worry about, Yu Jin," Sora reassured her.

"I just want to make sure you're safe and comfortable," said Yu Jin. "That's...that's all."

"I do appreciate it," Sora thanked her. "But rest assured, we're doing fine."

Matt was certainly struggling to adapt to his new residential life in Stallhart, and to his administrative role as well. Sora didn't know the details behind his ascension to the regency of the tiny castle, but she couldn't imagine how _anyone _would assign Matt some sort of leadership title - he had enough difficulty managing his own personal life, bless his heart. It was bad enough that he had attached to alcohol as a means to relieve his stress at the end of the day; she did not want to consider what kind of vices or issues lie ahead. It was easier to lie and say she had the situation under control.

The bus arrived within the next minute at its designated stop. Yu Jin's house wasn't far; they only had to walk a few blocks.

"Once we're back inside, we'll have to resume our roles. But only for public show," Sora reminded her.

"Must we?" asked Yu Jin, mildly disappointed.

"Unless you want to stay here, we must," said Sora.

"I...suppose, yeah," Yu Jin said, sighing in defeat. Playing the servant was not easy, and was not pleasant at all; Sora felt a pang of pity for the poor girl, who was being forced into a predesigned role that certainly would not be fitting for her.

"You'll do fine," Sora promised, placing her friend's palm on hers. "Given the first chance, we'll break out of there and go somewhere else." Yu Jin smiled at the gesture and held her hand all the way to her house.

They had one last night in Seattle together - they had to make the most of it. Sora was already missing Stallhart, in a weird way.

VVVVV

They camped that night in a smaller, but still sizeable chamber. Wherever it was, they were clearly not in the foundries like they were supposed to be.

The walls looked more natural and, in the stead of the smooth, chiseled stone they had seen earlier had been replaced with rough, unhewn limestone and porous rock. They had wandered for hours after the bridge collapse, and it was clear now they were unable to find their way back. Anoth had continually insisted they were on the right track, and that they were just on a roundabout way back, but by the time the group had found a chamber to camp in, it was obvious that Anoth was wrong.

Nobody had questioned him yet, though. Everyone was silent with trepidation, unwilling to assess or question the situation until their leader had spoken - for his part, Anoth was consigned to his tent, bickering fiercely with Rikken about what course to pursue next. Sitting by the dying fire, Will was unable to discern most of what he was saying, but the gist of the conversation was clear.

They were definitely lost.

Ibin stoked the dying fire as best he could, but the task proved to be impossible; they were out of sufficient fuel, and without anything beyond chips and twigs they could not have the roaring fire they wanted. He essentially gave up after half an hour.

"They do not know where we are," said Ibin after some period of silence. "That is the worst part. Anoth and Rikken continued to argue, but their voices were softer and more hushed now. A blanket of apprehension covered the entire camp, and many men had already ensconced themselves within the relative safety of their tents, unwilling to face the vast world of darkness outside their bubble of light.

"I would be alright with not knowing where we're going. But not knowing where we are, that's different," Ibin continued.

"I think we should get to bed," Will suggested. "What else can we do?"

"Nothing."

The question had been rhetorical, but Will was in no mood to point that out. Endless hours of traipsing hopelessly through tight corridors and winding cave tunnels left him fatigued and eager for rest. Their situation looking more and more desolate by the hour, he had no wish to stay up any longer.

He slept for a few hours before movement in the tent woke him. Will roused himself quickly, thinking there was some sort of danger, and he turned towards Ibin's sleeping bag to rouse him. Ibin, however, was gone; it was Aeric who had been shuffling on his left side, and in the darkness Will could barely make out the boy's form. He was sitting upright in his sleeping bag, staring out of the entrance of the tent. Will was vaguely aware the tent was open and became suddenly alarmed at the notion of his tent being exposed to the darkness. He sat up and began struggling to extract himself from his wrappings.

"_Aeric_-"

"Do you see them?" Aeric asked, speaking in hushed tones. He motioned to the front of the tent, and beckoned Will's eyes to some indeterminable point in the black distance. It took him a minute to rub the sleep away and focus, but Will could see them - four lights, distant and twinkling, and unmoving.

"Yeah, I see them," Will said, whispering in return. He waited with bated breath to see if any of them moved, or reacted to either of them. They did not.

"I couldn't sleep, so I sat up and…"

"There they were?"

"They've been there for a little while. Maybe ten minutes," said Aeric. Heart pounding, Will felt his his chest tighten as he watched the little shimmering beacons, suspended high above them. Even after taking two men, they were not satisfied - they yearned for more. Whoever _they _were.

"Aeric, they aren't human," Will said, unable to peel his eyes from the sight.

"I've figured that much," Aeric said, also fixated on the distant strangers. "What do you think they are?"

Will could not begin to say _what _they were, or _who_. They were almost certainly not human, given their behavior so far, and they seemed to have some kind of predatory purpose. Beyond that, Will was at a loss - the fact that they were isolated and lost compounded his fear and apprehension.

"Go back to bed," Will told him, unable to suss out any other possible course of action. Leaving the tent was _not _an option, according to him.

"Hunh?"

"Let's just go back to bed," said Will. "Don't go out of the tent."

"What if they're-"

"It's not worth it," Will whispered. "If we leave, we'll-"

"Where's Ibin?"

Will quickly realized Ibin had been absent this entire time. He stole another glance over at the empty bedding, and a sudden rush of fear coursed through his veins. Ibin, ever the trustworthy but cautious junior leader, had almost been a confidant of Will's throughout the journey - where Rikken was a _yes man _and Anoth was too haughty, Ibin was grounded and moderate in comparison. Will had become slowly attached to him, and wondered if Ibin, in a fit of foolery, had followed the lights.

"You don't think…?"

"He wouldn't do it," Will said, pondering the possibilities he had. Close the tent up, go back to sleep, and ignore the lights? Seek out Ibin? Leave the tent and seek safety at the central campfire? He was pondering each potential answer when he heard the voices.

For a brief moment, he wondered if the enigmatic lights were now speaking to him, but then he recognized Ibin's voice. Muffled and muted, yes, but undeniably belonging to Ibin. Will tried to triangulate it and realized it was coming from the center of the camp, likely the campfire.

"He's still here," Aeric said, noting the hushed voice.

Will noticed the lights were retreating now, disappearing into the darkness; not because someone was chasing them, though. Unless someone else had impetuously dashed out into the gloom in pursuit of them, they were leaving of their own accord, oddly enough. Will felt quite uneasy as the glow disappeared and, disoriented and sleepy, he stumbled out of the tent and made for the center of the camp, all the while ignoring Aeric's fiercely whispered demands that he remain inside.

Ibin and eight others were gathered near the fire, packing supplies and vials of lantern oil into their knapsacks. One of them was stirring the fire a little, and another was stuffing twigs and chaff into a small bag. They were all rushing, and Ibin overlooked the entire operation, watching them uneasily. Ibin started when Will approached but it was only brief.

"Will," Ibin acknowledged him calmly as he approached.

"What's going on?" Will asked, still groggily sloughing off the veil of sleep.

"We're packing up and leaving," Ibin said. "Striking off on our own."

"For real?"

"Does it look like we're playing around?" Ibin asked, referring to the work proceeding at a furious pace. Everyone was pilfering supplies from the main group and stuffing their bags full - notably with plenty of lantern oil and food.

"You're stealing," Will noted, glumly looking at all the supplies being stuffed away.

"It's necessary," Ibin explained. "I didn't want to do this, but we must."

"Isn't this all so...unwarranted?" Will asked.

"Unwarranted?" echoed Ibin. "Hardly unwarranted. Look at where we are. Look at what _happened_. Ask yourself, what's _going to happen_?"

Ibin did have a solid point. Despite only being in Dwer for two and a half days, their situation was already becoming bleak - lost, isolated, wandering aimlessly, and hunted by some strange entity that could very well be the cavern itself. For two and a half days, they had reached a fairly low point. Ibin's fears were certainly legitimate.

"So you're just breaking?"

"Breaking and running," Ibin answered honestly. "We've lost faith in Anoth."

"Aye, lad. We're lost and separated from the rest of the world, and Anoth ain't helping," someone else chimed in.

"Isn't there anything-"

"We're given up on Anoth," another man interrupted. "He's too hardheaded and stubborn, especially 'cause he thinks this is too big to give up on," another man interrupted. He had finished packing his own bag and hefted it onto his shoulders decisively. "We think otherwise."

"He was arguing with Rikken earlier. He intends to press on, even if he has no idea where he is," Ibin said. "We're striking out. Are you with us, or not?"

Will was at a junction now. He was faced with a difficult decision that he had not anticipated, and had to mull over the options at a lightning fast pace. Could he guarantee the decision he would make would be the best one? Of course not, but he didn't have the time - already they were staring him down, awaiting his answer.

"Well?" asked Ibin.

"Speak, boy," someone else impatiently demanded.

"I need one minute," said Will. "I must get Aeric."

"One minute. But no more," Ibin promised, looking eager to leave. Given that Anoth could wake at any minute, having perhaps heard the ruckus around the campfire, it was imperative to take off as soon as possible. On softest feet, Will dashed back to the tent to rouse and retrieve Aeric. There was no time to convince or persuade him to go; he _had _to go.

"Will-"

"Aeric, we need to leave," Will insisted, wasting no time on formalities. He grabbed what few possessions he had, and began rolling up his sleeping bag.

"Wait, _what_?" Aeric asked, still sounding drowsy.

"We need to go, now," Will reiterated. "We're in danger, and we have to leave."

It was the best story Will could compose on the fly; he had to persuade Aeric _somehow_.

"In danger, from them?" Aeric ventured. "Where's Ibin?"

"He's leaving, we have to go with him," Will said. "_Now_!"

"Will-"

"Now or never!" Will hissed. Something in his tone of voice made Aeric's mind up, because the boy leapt to his feet, grabbed his sleeping back, and rushed out of the tent after Will, careful not to make a sound.

The nine were still gathered at the fire, anxiously waiting for the boys to return. A few of them started walking once Aeric and Will appeared in sight; Ibin, quite kindly, waited for them until they were in earshot.

"We don't have much time," Ibin whispered. "We ought to move. We're going to try and cut right and make our way back around to the corridors we were in before."

"I know roughly which way we're going," "With some luck, we'll be back to the Second Level Plaza by dawn."

Will wasn't sure if he could be trusted - but there was no turning back now. He had made his decision, almost nonconsensually. When Ibin turned and began walking, making a brisk pace after the others, he followed, even though something in his head begged him to stay. Lighting his lantern, he proceeded to follow the others single-file into the darkness, with Aeric picking up the rear right behind him. Will did not dare look back at the dying light of the campfire, or the cluster of tents around it.

He felt a pang of pity as he realized that the eleven of them had taken almost all of the remaining lantern oil.


	15. Survival Instinct

**Hello friends. Long time no see.**

**I've had a lot of work lately and a lot of my life has been turned upside given or changed. So...that would explain the literal MONTHS without an update. I can't promise that I'll keep writing. I wish I could deliver for those of you still reading, but I don't want to promise something I might not be able to keep. Regardless, I will be giving you all what I HAVE written, and doing my best to continue. May you enjoy, and I appreciate your patience.**

The Enderborn did his best to ignore the bitter cold biting at his skin, and refused to let the wind bother him as he struggled through thick snowdrifts. He was not far, now; he could see the vague outline of the structure about five-hundred feet ahead, its facade masked by blowing snow. Not much farther now, he reckoned.

Due to the quaint and unusual principles of this eccentric structure, he was unable to teleport to within a mile of it - strange, but rules were rules. On his master's orders, he leapt north, to the very top of the world, and struggled through massive snowbanks for a mile until he reached his final destination.

Another few minutes of walking brought him to the plain stone door, untouched by anything besides congealed ice. Mortal men had not lain eyes on this doorway for ages, he knew, and the history of humanity had long ago forgotten about this ancient place. The only mentions of it were in old tomes locked away in great subterranean chambers, tended only by harmless and senile old men. Nobody would be tampering with this place.

His concern was the skulls.

The door gave no resistance as he pushed it open, eager to be out of the elements. The undecorated interior of the large, spherical structure was untouched and empty, devoid of any signs of life. The chamber he sought, he knew, would be further within.

It wasn't incredibly far from the entryway; the central chamber branched off into three separate chambers. The one directly parallel to the entryway was locked; the Enderborn, for all his might, could not force the iron door to budge. He gave up on his struggle rather quickly, and turned right instead, heading for his ultimate goal.

The stands were there, and the bodies were prepared; the homunculi, devoid of life but prepared to receive it, sat waiting for their master to deliver the finishing touch. Six of them sat in a semicircle in the middle of the room, waiting perhaps thousands of years for this moment.

All he needed were the skulls, and they would be his. He knew he was close, and it was just a matter of time before his hunters closed in.

VVVVV

Four months to live - if the clay doll could be believed, he had little less than four months left on this earth.

Aeric did not want to let the superstition control him; for all he knew, it could just be an old wives' tale, a way to scare small children or frighten naive outsiders. It couldn't be true, that would be _absurd_.

No matter what mental gymnastics he performed, however, he couldn't shake the fear that the clay doll had been correct. Four months, it had said...and the clock was ticking.

There were only eleven of them, formed up in a single-file line and inching their way through the dark, menacing tunnels of Dwer at a torturous pace. The darkness, once just a fact of life, was now a threat to their survival, and at every turn Aeric expected to see the lights return - but never once that day did he see them again. Clearly, they were preoccupied with something else, or they were playing the waiting game.

The smooth, artificial hallways of Dwer had given way completely to rough-hewn, natural cave tunnels that were leading them deeper and deeper into the earth. Aeric had the sinking feeling they were only going further down, and would eventually meet a dead-end; it was only a matter of time before their luck was up.

It had already been six days, too.

"Ration the rest of the cheese, don't want that to disappear so fast," Ibin had ordered at their most recent meal. They had plenty of bread, but they were running low on cheese - without cheese, the bread would simply be intolerable. They had to ration it a little; despite food issues, they had plenty of lantern oil, and several candles left. Light was absolutely necessary in the depths of Dwer - it was their shield, their aegis against what sinister forces lie in wait, ready to pounce. They could not discard it so easily.

Now, meagre meal in hand, Aerics wondered if the oil would last long enough - who knows how long they would be walking, or how far? They had, at most, a week's supply left, and that was an optimistic assumption. A thousand different fears flooded his head as he became enraptured with the terrifying question of how they were all going to die.

They _had _to make it out, though...right? He had four months left to live, and he wasn't going to be stuck in Dwer for four months. _Impossible_-

"You alright over there?" asked Will.

"Eh?" Aeric looked up, snapped out of his thoughtful stupor.

"You look a little pale. Everything okay?"

In truth, everything was_ not_ okay, although that seemed a little melodramatic. Aeric struggled to prevent panic, and he managed a weak smile to satisfy Will.

"Just a little claustrophobic, that's all," Aeric replied.

"Yeah, just keep a level head, okay?" said Will. "I'll be right behind you."

Will had taken up the rear position, holding up the very back of the line. His back to the darkness, unprotected and unwatched, he was the most vulnerable one of the team, yet he had volunteered for that very position. Aeric admired his steel will.

"You have enough light back there?" Aeric asked, trying to make some comforting small talk. Will possessed one of the two biggest lanterns; Ibin, up front, held the other to light the way safely.

"For now, but I'm running low-"

"We've got plenty," called Ibin from the front. "Keep an eye on your rear, Will. Don't let your guard down." He seemed to be keeping a level head, and wasn't panicking like Rikken might have. Aeric was beginning to trust him, despite earlier reservations; Ibin appeared uncertain and frightened before, a mere stripling in the face of a bearish man like Anoth. Perhaps that first impression had been incorrect.

"I'm watching," Will promised, instinctively peering back over his shoulder. "Nothing yet."

"Let's hope it remains nothing," Ibin said.

The tunnel began to widen, and it looked like they were coming up on some sort of larger passage. Aeric was glad for the possibility of that; he was becoming tired of the tight, narrow cave tunnels they had been traipsing through for the past few days. He did not feel at all comfortable confined like that, and hoped they were finally, perhaps, reaching the city once more.

"We've got space up ahead, boys," called Ibin from ahead, warning the others.

"What do you see?" Will asked.

"Some sort of big cavern," Ibin replied. "It looks like it could be part of the foundries, maybe. It's _big_, for sure." He sounded like he was struggling to distinguish details. They were still a little ways off, still confined in the constrictive, winding passage.

"Could be what we're looking for," said someone else. His careful optimism was echoed by several others, all eager to be back on course. Will, for one, was not quite as optimistic. After splitting from Anoth's team, it had been at least a day before they had fully transitioned to cave tunnels, parting from the Euclidean geometry of Dwer. It had been more of a gradual transition, too, not something very quick or unexpected. This couldn't be the city again, that seemed almost impossible.

"There's light ahead," Ibin called back.

"Candles?" someone asked tentatively.

"No...natural?"

He was hesitant at first, but as he entered the massive chamber it was clear the tiny beam of light streaming down from the minute crack in the ceiling was natural. For the first time in a week, Aeric saw sunlight, and he was absolutely delighted.

"Sunlight!" shouted Ibin, pointing up at the jagged little aperture in the cave's roof. "We're close to somewhere!"

"Close to somewhere?" said Will under his breath, unmoved by the light and confused by what Ibin had said. The others, however, were consumed with excitement as they saw the sunlight, and one of them whooped out of joy. Aeric almost wanted to join in, his fears of the darkness and of the faceless spectres that lurked there dispersed by this sudden miracle. He couldn't bring himself to it, however - something didn't feel right.

"There must be an exit nearby," someone posited, thinking aloud.  
"You certain?" Will questioned. He was the only one not giddy with joy, and everyone else turned to him as soon as he spoke.

"We're close enough to the surface to see natural light!" one of the adventurers argued. "We have to be close to an exit!"

"That's not true," Will replied. The man became angry with him, and took a threatening step towards him.

"What do you know-"

"Boy's right," Ibin said, looking glum now. "We...this may just be the side of the mountain or something. We can't know for sure."

"Don't be like that, now," someone warned, sounding angsty. "That's negative thinking."

"It's not negative, it's pragmatic," Will replied, defending himself.

"We don't need pragmatism right now," the same man retorted. "We need to think positive, else we're gonna die down here!"

"Nobody's dying down here," said Ibin sternly. "We need to keep level heads, alright? We're safe now, we're out of danger, and we just need to get _out_."

"And how do we do that, then?" his counterpart posited. "If this ain't an exit, like you say it is?"

"I never said _that_-"

The two men began arguing and were joined by Will and another. Standing in the middle of the faint sunbeams in the center of the cave chamber, they bickered amongst one another about what course of action ought to be taken. Aeric, unwilling to throw his weight in a debate of that magnitude, stepped back and turned around to survey the cavern's proportions.

That's when he saw them. At least five, standing on a small ledge towards the top of the ceiling.

The lights were back. They were watching.

Momentarily, Aeric froze as if he were paralyzed; unable to move, unable to scream, his eyes fixated themselves on the glimmering lights, detached from any sort of body. In the dim sunlight, they now made their forms clearly visible - or, rather, their lack of forms. They weren't even candles, really, just small globes of light hovering in midair and backed up by the most menacing, lifeless patch of darkness Aeric had ever laid eyes on. Darker perhaps even than total darkness, it was not a natural phenomenon - it was something else entirely, and Aeric realized that urine was trickling down his thigh as he broke away from the sight.

"-I'm telling you, we can't find our way back, it's absolutely-"

"_Will_!"

Aeric shouted at his boyfriend as urgently as possible. Having been arguing with the other three about their course of action, Will had failed to notice the lights gathered at the top of the chamber. At Aeric's behest, he turned on his heels quite alarmed and took notice of the darkness up there; immediately, the lights vanished and the darkness began materializing within the room, spreading like a cloud. Within seconds, it had engulfed the entire cavern and blocked the sunlight out, leaving only the lanterns in the middle to light the chamber.

"It's the lights!" Aeric shouted, alerting everyone. Now the darkness was active, threatening to envelop all of them, and lights began appearing at the top of the ceiling, encircling them. First one, then two, then five, and then a dozen, and a full score of them had come to life before someone took action.

"Let's go, go..._go_!" Ibin shouted, immediately shedding the facade of leadership and taking off to save himself. The others followed, sprinting out of the chamber as it grew darker and some hollow roar began to fill it. Aeric fled with Will, trying to keep pace with him; the swordsman, after years of practice, was impressively athletic and outpaced everyone but Ibin. Aeric reached out to grab his sweaty hand and felt himself being pulled along as the walls surged by. They were running blindly.

The roar followed them as they ran, pursued by some unknown entity that was now done with playing games. This was what had been stalking and haunting them the entire time they had been in Dwer; this, this _thing_, was chasing them. But _why_? Aeric had time to ponder that later; right now, he had to survive, and survive he would.

"Don't let go!" he begged as Will ran faster, keeping pace with Ibin. They were now heading down a straight corridor, rushing at full pace, and a few of the men were failing to keep up. The last one in line, the most exhausted, was struggling even to run and after a few minutes he gave up and fell behind. It was not long before Aeric looked back and saw his lantern light extinguished, replaced with a flowing black mass that could only be described as impenetrable. It was like some sort of howling vortex, pure black energy, unmoved by light and brimming with malice. It only gave Will more reason to flee.

They came to another large chamber, this one complete with a natural rock bridge spanning a significant chasm. The ravine wasn't excessively deep, but any fall would kill a man; the team was forced to slow down somewhat as they prepared to cross, still running but struggling to keep their balance. All but one succeeded.

The darkness blasted through the doorway and approached the bridge with some sort of guttural, hateful roar. It was enough to put one man off balance and force him to slip on the slick surface, sending him careening into the vale below. Aeric, watching him tumble, was seized by the sudden terror of imminent death, and forced his eyes shut as he knew the darkness was coming upon him.

But then Will stopped.

The entire party came to a screeching halt, and Aeric turned to look. Halfway across the bridge, the great wall of darkness had come to a halt, as if it had met an invisible barrier. It simmered and flowed with energy, eager to reach out and catch them, but it could not - it was stopped, just short of its prey, and it could go no further. It looked almost as if it were pondering its next course of action.

It vanished almost immediately afterwards. There was another loud roar, and a hundred lights erupted from the maw of darkness before it began to retreat back into the tunnel. Will swore he could now see pale, barely visible human figures holding the lights in the palms of their hands, but they didn't quite look human...there was something terribly uncanny about them.

He thought they lacked faces, but he couldn't tell. They vanished with the darkness, disappearing back into the tunnel, and the cave then fell completely silent.

They had passed out of Dwer. The lights could not.

VVVVV

Dr. Liam Caldwell was a genial young man, quite spry and energetic for being roughly nine-hundred years old.

"I appreciate the hospitality, Lord Tanser," he said, accepting the offer of a sumptuous supper.

"It's my pleasure, doctor," Tanser replied. "Lord Walker spoke very highly of you before he left."

"It's a shame I missed him." Liam sat at his place at the table. "Leon and I go back a long ways."

"Hah, well, I suppose you could say that," said Tanser. A friendship that could last nearly a millennium was an impressive feat indeed - even if they were no longer really "friends", it was incredible to be acquaintances and in communication after so long. Lord Walker had mentioned something about a "debt" before he had departed on his journey, which made Lyonel Cormac wonder how much allegiance Dr. Caldwell _really _owed his old friend.

For his part, Lyonel was already picking out the juiciest chicken wings and decorating his plate with an assortment of steamed vegetables and berries. Feasts in the Ditch were hardly extravagant, but they weren't plain either; Lyonel, quite used to the simple, dry food he had eaten for years back at Lord Kurnias' hold, had become very fond of the daily meals served at the Ditch's Royal Hall. Despite the grandeur of the name, the Royal Hall was fairly small and quite cozy, and was paneled with wood in contrast to most of the city. He enjoyed the atmosphere almost as much as he enjoyed the dishes presented.

"So, dinner is served," Tanser said, taking his seat at the head of the table. In Lord Walker's stead, he would be the one sitting there. "You may eat as much as you please, we have plenty."

"I appreciate the offer, but I eat fairly modest," Liam admitted. He took only a lump of chicken and some cold tomato slices. "I hope that's not offensive-"

"Ah, not hardly. At least, it isn't to me," Tanser replied. "How was your journey?"

"Absolutely awful," said Liam. "Well, that's exaggerating, of course-"

"I should hope you were somewhat comfortable," Tanser said.

"It was an experience, to be sure. It has been far too long since I've been to this side of the world," Liam said.

"You don't travel often?" Tanser asked, slicing open a steaming baked potato and buttering it thoroughly.

"Not across the ocean. You're familiar with world geography, I take it?"

"Ah..." Tanser's eyes darted around furiously, as if he suddenly felt uncomfortable. It was clear his implicit answer was a resounding _no_. "Better than the average peasant, I would say," he hesitated.

"Well, that's an accomplishment, I guess."

The average peasant didn't know of geography beyond his own backyard, generally, so it wasn't necessarily an accomplishment - Lyonel, however, did not point this out, nor did he interrupt at all. For the time being, he was content to listen to their conversation and fill his hungry stomach.

"It was smooth sailing until we got to Hardshore and had to sail up the Great River," said Liam. "Getting on those little dinghies and trying to ward off seasickness was awful." He diced his tomatoes into tiny portions and salted them moderately as he spoke. Lyonel wondered if he was getting enough to eat, but he wasn't about to ask a guest such an intrusive question upfront.

"Hopefully the locals gave you no trouble?" Tanser inquired.

"The fact that we had helicopters on-board was enough to keep them quiet," Liam said. "The Reinhardt river patrols were a little wary of us, but they didn't bother us at all."

"Well, glad to see that you made it here all safe," Tanser said, smiling warmly at his guest.

"I was hoping to catch Leon. But I'm afraid our rendezvous will have to wait a bit longer," Liam said.

Lyonel felt a little pang of pity for the poor doctor, separate from his friend for at least decades. It certainly was no easy task to cross the ocean and half the continent to travel to Connaughtsshire; many people in the province never traveled beyond their home counties, much less the province itself. Few were able to cross the world with ease.

"So, I hate to get straight to business, but it is of the utmost-"

"Business is important," Liam agreed. "Chatting is idle waste. I must give you a markdown of what I've brought."

Finishing his meal, Lyonel listened with interest as Dr. Caldwell described the vast array of equipment he had brought with him on their little dinghies: assault rifles, battle rifles, long-range weaponry, dumb-fire rockets, ATVs, transport vehicles, motorbikes, modern medicine, combat armor, electronics, and, most importantly, two light helicopters, both fully fueled and fully armed. Tanser seemed right impressed with the loadout.

"Helicopters, even?"

"We decided to go for broke," Liam admitted. "Well, I decided. I made the choice."

"You think it will be enough?"

"No, not hardly," Liam said. "Depends on who you're referring to."

There was an odd moment of silence. Tanser looked like he was scrabbling for words.

"There have been, ah, reports coming from the east," he stammered. "We've gotten wind of the presence of some sort of private military company smashing a path north parallel to the river. Several castles have been hit hard - the Birchwood, Dove's Egg, Planterton, and Brackwood among them-"

"Where did you hear of this?" asked Liam, now sounding concerned.

"Refugees and survivors of the attacks. We don't know of any other castles, and we don't know what their objective is," Tanser said, "but they're here. That's the problem."

"I can only do so much," Liam reminded him, finishing off what was left of his paltry tomato slices. "A paramilitary organization or mercenary team is much more of a challenge than some angry liege lord."

"You're better equipped than us," Lyonel pointed out.

"Hmm. That is fair and true," Liam admitted, smiling gaily at the knight. "I don't believe I got your name-"

"Sir Lyonel Cormac. Er, at your service," Lyonel hastily added.

"Sir Lyonel is a good man and an excellent fighter," said Tanser. "He will be of great use to you, should you require him."

"I may," Liam considered, now staring rather oddly at Lyonel. "Who were you trained under?"

"I served Lord Atar Kurnias of the Birchwood, and Sir Riley Foster, also of the Birchwood," Lyonel informed him. "Men you would not have heard of." He found his stomach tightening as he remembered the loss of both men. Sir Riley, cut down at Thellden after a vicious fight for his life, and Lord Kurnias - simply gone.

"Don't be so sure about that," Caldwell reprimanded him gently. "I have read quite a bit of literature about Connaughtsshire. It used to be my home, you know?"

It took Sir Lyonel a few moments to remember that Liam Caldwell, despite his youthful facade and vigor, was absolutely fucking _ancient_, much like Lord Walker. He did not understand the logistics of it, but Lord Walker had referred to his demi-immortality as both a gift and a curse; likely, Dr. Caldwell viewed it in the same way.

"That's interesting," Tanser said, drinking deep from his goblet. "I'd be curious as to know where-"

"Old Delphos, of course," Liam said. "Everyone who was someone lived in Old Delphos. It's just an ancient ruin, now, but I'm sure it'd be interesting to return to."

"Perhaps after the war," Tanser said. "I must remind you, now, doctor, that there _is _a war ongoing."

"I haven't forgotten," Liam retorted. "In fact, I've been thinking about what needs to be done."

"Put those birds in the sky and you'll have half the realm bending the knee within a day," Tanser joked, chuckling to himself.

"They're useful, I'll give them that," Liam admitted. "But that is not what I'm trying to do."

"And what are you doing, then?" Lyonel asked, becoming impatient.

"Returning a debt to an old friend," said Liam. "And tackling the threats you cannot even touch."

"We need your help," Tanser reiterated. "With more than one thing."

"I'm afraid I can only focus my energy on one single thing." Liam shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"As far as I know, these private military men you speak of are on the other side of the river," Lyonel informed him. "In case you weren't aware, the eastern bank is given up for lost. We have nothing over there."

"Aye, so then you want me to be here?" Liam asked.

"I think-"

"I would agree with Sir Lyonel on that," said Tanser. "Your efforts would be most productive here, in our territory. The eastern bank is forfeit, we can worry about that later."

"As you say," Liam agreed, although his tone of voice indicated he held reservations about the decision. "I will do what I can to keep order and provide security. Is that what you want?"

"A show of force, and provision of law and order. That would be wonderful," Tanser explained.

Liam glanced from one man to the other, pondering his next move. He sat back in his chair, his dinner finished, and turned finally to Sir Lyonel.

"I will need help," Liam began, focusing on the knight. "I will need someone familiar with the terrain, and with the people. I need a local."

"Sir Lyonel?" Tanser asked, after a moment of silence.

For his part, Lyonel was feeling particularly uncomfortable now that he realized two sets of eyes were on him. He knew what they wanted, but he didn't want to accept it.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"You are not useful here," Tanser informed him grimly. "I need you on the field."

"My Lord-"

"Sir Lyonel, you mention you come from the Birchwood?" Liam asked.

"That's on the other side of the river, doctor," Lyonel pointed out. "My knowledge of the local terrain would be no use here."

"It's better than nothing," said Liam.

"Sir Lyonel, I ask that you accompany Dr. Caldwell in the field when he begins his operations," Tanser said.

"My _Lord_-"

"That is an order," Tanser iterated. "That is not an option. I want you in the field."

Lyonel, for all it was worth, was perfectly content remaining at the Ditch. He had little vested interest in going out in the field with winter fast approaching, even though it was his _job_. He was a feudal knight, but his war did not pit him against feudal opponents - he stood against a menagerie of foes far stronger than him, and he was afraid to admit that he feared them.

"I will do what I must," Sir Lyonel agreed. It was pointless to argue.

"A dutiful man." Liam smiled warmly. "It is appreciated."

"Sir Lyonel, you are one of my most trusted retinue men, and I know you're a competent fighter," Tanser said. "You may not be a leader, but I need you out there."

Lord Tanser had a fair point - for all the comfort he had at the Ditch, he was of little use to the Alliance there. Having lost a decent chunk of its landed nobility and with an army barely half the size of Reinhardt's, the Alliance as it were needed to be staunch in the face of the many threats facing it. Sir Lyonel understood he had a duty to do, and that backing down would mean defeat and, perhaps worse, humiliation.

"I will need your expertise and your assistance, Sir Lyonel," Liam admitted. "I am in foreign territory. I admit that I cannot go forward without your aid."

"Then I will be what you need me to," Lyonel said.

"Excellent," Tanser said. "Is that all we must take care of?"

"I will take care of logistics and operations for my own troops," said Liam. "Lord Tanser, I just need you to hold the fort down."

"We have a long winter ahead," Tanser reminded him. "Easier said than done."

"Aye," Liam agreed, rising. "I will see you gentlemen later then. May I be excused?"

"Of course, of course."

Liam Caldwell hastily hurried up, bowing lazily in Tanser's direction. Sir Lyonel appreciated the fact that he had bothered to recognize the local customs - bowing was almost certainly an alien notion in the NMR. Tanser seemed pleased with the motion, and proceeded to relax a bit in his chair, the main business if the evening complete.

"Sir Lyonel, you're going to have to pull your weight with this," he said, after some brief moments of pleasant silence.

"I know-"

"Do you? Do you recognize how important your position is?" Tanser asked.

"Explain, please," Lyonel demanded.

"Dr. Caldwell is an outsider, a foreigner," Tanser began. "You know what kind of authority he has in this territory?"

"Beyond the immediate show of force, pretty much nothing, right?" Lyonel guessed.

"That would be correct."

"And let me guess." Lyonel paused to drink deep from his glass. "That's where I come in?"

"You're the authority behind the force," Tanser said. "You're a _knight_, Sir Lyonel. Nobility recognize that more than they do some foreign doctor."

"This is true, true," Lyonel agreed. "But is that it?"

"That's the most important part. It's a part I need you to play well," said Tanser.

"And what if our plan fails? What if it's not enough?"

"Then we use force," Tanser said. "You're the glue, Sir Lyonel, the glue that'll patch our alliance up. We need solidarity, we need confederation, and that's not easy. We've got titles in questionable positions, titles unowned, a disparate patchwork of lords and barons reeling from crisis after crisis-"

"So apocalyptic," Lyonel mused.

"I make it seem dramatic, I know," Tanser acknowledged. "But don't ignore it, it's a problem."

"For sure," Lyonel said. "So, when did you want me to leave?"

"That is up to Dr. Caldwell," Tanser said. "It's his jurisdiction. You can probably expect to see combat at some point."

"Color me surprised."

"It won't be easy," Tanser warned him, finishing off his drink. "But I see no other choice. We need him, and Lord Walker personally supported him. That is something I cannot ignore."

Sir Lyonel couldn't disagree with that. Personally, he wasn't about to turn Dr. Caldwell's support away - they were gambling a lot on this meagre little alliance of theirs, and with Lord Walker gone they needed solidarity now more than ever.

Also, Dr. Caldwell had helicopters. Couldn't argue with that.

VVVVV

Adulthood was scary. Matt wanted to be a kid again.

That thought constantly ran through his head as he prepared to depart for Castiron Hill on the dreary, cloudy morning before his eighteenth birthday. As a young child, he had always wanted to grow up faster and become an adult so he would no longer have to live under the strict rules of his parents. Now that he stood on the precipice of adulthood, he wanted to turn back time, back to the good old days.

He dressed quickly, throwing on the cleanest clothes he could find. Without Sora or Yu Jin present, the duties of laundry and housecleaning fell mainly to poor Sarah Lancaster, eternally toiling under the verbal lashes of Lana Valdez, the head of domestic servants or whatever the hell she was. She was certainly a taskmaster, that was true, but Matt didn't think Sora's concerns and complaints about her were legitimate - she seemed friendly enough, and rewarded Sarah for hard work. It wasn't that bad.

It started raining right as he began breakfast. The meal for the morning was rather meagre - plain bread with butter, hard cheese, a selection of cold meats, and plain warm cider - but it was filling, at least, and the cider was a welcome remedy against the drafty cold. He ate alone, sitting isolated in the chilly dining hall, his breakfast lit only by four lonely candles, one occupying each of the room's corners. He was beginning to miss Sora really bad, and was hoping she would be able to make it for his birthday tomorrow - the likelihood of that happening was beginning to seem fainter and fainter by the hour.

At a quarter till nine, he was ready. Bedecked in a special suit of half-plate armor, made just for the lord of Stallhart, he strolled out into the foyer of the keep, where the envoy to Castiron was preparing. Riley Eston, the diplomatic attache, would be the most crucial part of their embassy - without Riley, they had little to nothing. Avery Steadwin, as rightful heir to the titles and territory of Stallhart, would be coming as well, but his purpose in the convoy was less meaningful. He was there just to look pretty and provide legitimacy to the embassy, whereas Matt and Riley would be truly leading it.

"Are you ready, my lord?" asked Riley Eston, affixing her scabbard to her belt.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Matt sighed, hardly eager to be going.

"Don't be so glum, my lord," Riley tried to reassure him. "I'll be doing the dirty work. You just take care of the formalities."

"I don't _know _the formalities," Matt admitted.

"Introduce yourself, let him introduce himself, acknowledge him-"

"Wait, wait, _him_?"

"You'll likely be speaking to Lord Pendleton himself," Riley warned him. "What were you expecting?"

"Someone less intimidating," Matt confessed.

"He will be present if another lord approaches him for diplomacy, that's the way it works," Avery Steadwin informed him, in a manner quite cold, his tone insinuating that Matt should already know these things.

"Feudal law," said Riley. "I'm aware you're unfamiliar, my lord, so let me handle most of the diplomacy."

"I will do what I must," Matt told her. "I appreciate your presence though, Miss Eston. Yours too, Lord Steadwin."

Avery Steadwin perked up a little at the compliment. Ever since he had been put in charge of Skagway and Roanshire, the little farming villages to the east of Stallhart, he had been a little warmer to Matt - only a _little_. It was a measurable difference, however, and Matt appreciated it. The youth did not smile, but he did not return the compliment with contempt or some wisecrack.

Followed by ten or so armored guardsmen, they left the keep and strode down the hill in the drizzling rain, holding their heads down to keep water off their faces. Matt was thankful for the armor he had been given that morning - the helmet, forged of iron, had a visor over the eyes that kept his face clean and dry. The soldiers and the rest of the ensemble were less lucky, equipped only with cloth hoods, felt caps, or leather pot helms.

A few villagers were out and about that morning, a handful tending their market stalls or sweeping their doorsteps (if their doorsteps were dry, that is), but most had relegated their daylight to staying inside. The rain was pouring down harder now and Matt began to dread the five-mile trudge to Castiron Hill. They had horses, but they were of little use; the animals were no faster than humans were in rain like this.

They reached Castiron at about two in the afternoon. The rain relented somewhat after lunchtime, but pathetic little rivulets of water ran down Matt's cloak and leggings as he rode through the fields of tall grass surrounding the imposing stone redoubt. Having passed wheat fields, peat bogs, marshland and weed fields, Matt had seen enough wet, soggy vegetation to last him a lifetime; he was hoping that the great stone fortress would allow them inside for a respite from the endless rain.

A measly dirt trail, now muddy and potholed, ran up to the castle gates, which consisted of oak and maple wood reinforced with iron bars at crucial intersections. The gate looked just as imposing as the whitewashed, stark stone walls did; compared to Stallhart, Castiron Hill was a veritable impenetrable bunker. The rotting timbers of Stallhart's old walls couldn't hold up to the crudest of battering rams, whereas it might take an explosion to break through _this _gate.

"Should we knock?" asked Matt, looking back at the group.

It was a joke, but nobody was amused. Struggling for hours through wet turf had dampened everyone's spirits, and as a result nobody but Matt was entertained. He was seriously considering dismounting and walking up to the door to knock when someone peered over the parapets and shouted down to him.

"Oy, what did you lot want?"

Matt was taken aback and glanced upwards, his visor tilting back and allowing rain to spatter onto his forehead. Ten feet above him, a lone guard looked down, a bow strapped to his leather-clad back.

"I am Lord Matthew Cook, reigning regent of Stallhart, a lord of Lord Walker's Alliance," Matt announced. "I come to speak with Lord Pendleton."

"Aye, that you do. Please, wait," demanded the guard before he disappeared. Matt figured he would have to speak to some superiors to arrange for Lord Pendleton to come to the gate to parlay.

"That is all you need to do, now, besides announce yourself to Lord Pendleton when he comes," Riley told him as he mounted once more, pulling the visor back into place.

"What if he asks me questions?"

"I'll do the answering," she said. "That is my job."

They waited for about five minutes before the great oaken gates shuddered and slowly opened, revealing the interior of Castiron Hill. The keep was visible from the gates, and the town around it was relatively small compared even to Stallhart, but the keep was built out of stone, even the arrow towers lining the walls - everything was designed to resist siege engines and catapult-type weaponry.

"If my Lord is so inclined, he will wait here for Lord Pendleton to arrive," a man said. The speaker was bedecked in heavy chainmail and bore the emblem of Thellden on his left breast, clearly indicating where his loyalties lay. Matt dismounted his horse and signalled for the rest of the party to do the same, and they were glad to be able to stand out of the rain and wait out Lord Pendleton's arrival in a relatively dry space. The gate doors behind them closed and shut with an ominous clang.

It was another few minutes before Lord Pendleton arrived, riding on a gorgeous destrier and bedecked in his full suit of armor. It was obvious he was trying to make an impression as he rode in, his combat gear embellished with a sinuous, regal fur coat buttressing his broad shoulders. He dismounted without a word, tossing the reins to one of his entourage, and approached Matt's party by himself, a sneer growing on his face. A veritable army of chainmail-clad guardsmen gathered behind him as he stopped ten feet before Matt and, nearly puffing his chest out, began speaking.

"I have been told that you are Lord Matthew Cook, reigning regent of Stallhart, the current 'pretender' to land rightfully belonging to another house. Where is Lord Avery Steadwin?"

"Lord Steadwin," Matt called, trying his hardest to stare down his opponent and not yield. Dorian Pendleton was a haughty, snooty man but he was also intimidating, bedecked in heavy armor and his fur coat. His guard force stood in the rain while he, alone, stood in the shelter of the gateway, standing between them and the small envoy.

"I see you have the legitimate heir to the title. Very well," Pendleton said.

"I am Lord Matthew Cook, as you know," Matt introduced himself, dismounting out of respect as he spoke. "I come bearing words for you. We wish to engage in diplomacy."

"Do you now? Well, as you wish, carry on," Pendleton said. Behind Matt, Riley Eston and Avery Steadwin both dismounted, shoving their rides aside. It was evident that Lord Pendleton was not particularly interested in being party to their words, but custom dictated that he allow it. He spat upon the muddy ground as Matt retreated and Riley Eston, closely flanked by Lord Steadwin, strode forward to take her place.

"I am Riley Eston, diplomatic attache to Lord Cook and Lord Steadwin. I will speak," the diplomat introduced herself.

"Speak, then," Pendleton admitted them. "I will not waste any time with you lot, so make the most of this."

Matt knew this was his turn to be silent and watch. He already disliked Lord Pendleton, cavalier as he was, but he had to contain himself and let the trained diplomat speak, lest something go wrong.

"We recognize that our two respective nations are at war-"

"I would hardly call your party a nation," Pendleton grumbled, but allowed her to continue.

"We stand on opposite sides of a conflict, yet we of Stallhart and of House Steadwin, represented by Lord Avery Steadwin and his regent Lord Matthew Cook, come here to propose a local ceasefire and propose local negotiations to your own House, and your House alone," Riley explained. "We wish to engage in diplomacy between only the two of us, for the mutual benefit of both of our territories and towns."

Lord Pendleton and his armed entourage were silent for a few moments, the former contemplating the offer presented to him. Rain plinked loudly off of the chainmail of the guards behind him as he stood - silent, motionless, contemplative.

"I cannot accept that," Pendleton decided, point blank.

"We offer peace and ceasefire for both sides. No demands, no extortions, no ransom to be paid," Riley added, as if to clarify her tenuous position.

"I know what you offered," Pendleton said.

"We only wish for peace. Winter comes soon, and it will be a harsh one. War will worsen it," Riley pointed out. She was remaining calm and controlled, but even now Avery Steadwin looked uncomfortable and nervous. He was not used to diplomacy, clearly, and he was visibly intimidated by the towering form of Dorian Pendleton not ten feet from him.

"This notion is understandable, but impossible," Pendleton said to her. "I cannot do this thing."

"We must compromise somewhere," Riley urged him. "We are flexible in our deal. We only want peace."

"We do not have to do anything," Pendleton corrected her. "I will not compromise on anything, I swear on that."

"Do you not wish for peace?" asked Riley.

"Peace is preferable to war, but we have chosen war, and that is what we must stick with," Pendleton declared. He was growing weary of the travail, and he apparently wanted little more to do with his opponents. Matt could see the cavalier attitude empowering him to end these pointless talks, and quickly.

"We will offer you territory as well, and gold if you wish," Riley added.

Matt wasn't sure he liked the sound of _that _deal. Riley sounded desperate now, and he began to shift uncomfortably where he stood, wondering where she was bringing the talks to. She couldn't go much farther without the compromise being lopsided.

"I appreciate the gifts, but it is not enough," Pendleton declined. "I will not do it."

"Tell me, then, is there anything _you _would have for peace?" Riley asked.

"You run out of offers?" Pendleton wondered, raising an eyebrow. Matt winced at the gesture, and wondered how Pendleton thought he could get away with that. He was being a dick, in a way, and Matt didn't appreciate it - although there was still nothing he could do about it.

"I'd like to hear yours," Riley said, quite coldly. Matt's gut churned and he wanted desperately to back out of these talks, now. They had gone sour very quickly.

"I have no counter-offers," Pendleton said. "Except I demand you hand over Stallhart, immediately."

"Hand it over?" Matt asked for clarification.

"Turn over the title and the town and keep to me, and then we will have peace," Pendleton clarified for him. "Otherwise, I have nothing to say to you."

"Those titles do not belong to you," Avery Steadwin growled, bringing attention to himself. Pendleton's eyes swooped down onto him, focusing on the youth with laser focus.  
"Oh, do they belong to you?" Pendleton taunted, turning to him now. "I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that you were _reigning_…"

"The title belongs to him. I am only the regent, but he is the true owner of Stallhart," Matt said.

"Ah, yes, the _regent_," Pendleton snarled. "Rumor has it that the regent of Stallhart isn't even of age yet, rendering him unfit and _illegitimate_. Is this true?"

Matt found himself inadvertently silent after that; he did not want to reply to such a barb, but the question beggared an answer. Matt's legitimacy was on the line, and lying would only do so much to save face.

"That's not the matter at hand," Riley said, trying to set the talks straight once more. It was nearly a lost cause, but she had not yet given up. "The matter at hand is-"

"If you refuse to hand over Stallhart, then we are done," Pendleton declared. "No counter-offers."

"I will do no such thing," said Matt.

"And neither will I," Avery seconded, standing in solidarity with Matt. It was perhaps the first time he had agreed with Matt on anything.

"The teenagers have spoken, and declared their will," Pendleton taunted, smiling wryly. "We are done here. I suggest you leave quickly."

Matt was waiting for Riley Eston to turn him around and re-engage him but even she, the diplomat, had given up. Pendleton turned his back on them with a sharp movement and returned to his men-at-arms, as the gate opened up again and admitted the Stallhart envoy back out into the world. Silent and defeated, the group remounted and departed Castiron Hill, all of their peace efforts in vain.

VVVVV

Trass had left them the lantern - for that, Leon was grateful.

Despite the tiny size of its flickering flame, the lantern illuminated the entire breadth of the corridor as they walked, descending into darkness. He knew there were rooms off to each side - yawning apertures in the walls yielded menacingly dark passageways into the unknown - but he remembered the advice Trass had given.

They had to stick to the main corridor.

But where the _hell _were those skulls going to be?

"This is a dark place," Saif Bitawwi whispered.

"I know what you mean," Herobrine agreed. "I can feel it. Leon?"

"I feel something," Leon said. "Where do you suggest we look?"

"I suggest we keep going forward. We'll know where to go, I think...remember his advice?"

"_Rooms we'd wish we'd never gone into_, or something like that. Yes, I remember," said Leon. Those words were burned into his brain, and despite himself he felt sweat beading on his forehead. It was unnaturally cold down here, almost freezing, but he could feel sweat building on him out of fear. They were in the realm of the Embalmers, and god help them if they woke the sleeping ones.

They passed plenty of chambers, but saw no Embalmers - at least, they didn't _see _any. At least once Leon could've sworn that, in the smothering silence of the Underneath, he picked up the tune of someone whistling in the distance. It was a happy, carefree tune, but it chilled him and he did not wish to follow it. Nobody else reacted to it, however, so he brushed it off as his mind playing tricks on him.

It wasn't long before they reached a fork in the road - the corridor was divided into three paths, one going straight ahead and two branching out diagonally to both the left and right side. Leon, in the lead, had now stopped and was waving the lantern from passage to passage, studying each. They all looked the same, with no distinguishable features between them.

"Hero," Leon whispered, calling his companion to his side. "Where do we go?"

"I couldn't tell you," Hero replied. "I do not know this place."

"Straight, you think?"

"I'd take one of the side routes," said Hero. "To be honest, I couldn't tell you which one's the right way. Your call."

"Left, then," Leon decided, and he turned sharply, leading the group down that passageway. He carefully sidestepped a gaping hole in the floor, making his way deeper into the earth - the left hallway, as with the right, was sloping down at an even sharper angle. It was difficult to keep his feet from slipping out underneath him as the floor became slick and slimy with some unknown substance. He did note, to his relief, that there were fewer side passages here - and, thankfully, no apertures in the ceiling. That had made him _extremely _uncomfortable back in the main hallway, in the event of looking up and seeing nothing but a dark hole above your head.

"Mind your step," Leon whispered back at them as he dodged yet another hole. This one was deeper, sinking at least fifteen feet into the ground before opening up into another passageway down below, barely lit by the lantern light. The Underneath was a god damned labyrinth if he'd ever seen one; Leon was now regretting this little adventure. Comparatively, his little home back in Connaughtsshire was beginning to look like paradise.

"Leon, room up ahead," Hero warned him.

"Yeah, I see it," Leon acknowledged. "Mind the drop-"

"There's light in there."

Leon's stomach sank when he saw the dancing shadows about fifty feet ahead. Emanating from the doorway was a weak, pathetic green light that looked positively otherworldly. Lantern in hand, Leon shimmied around another, smaller crag and carefully approached the doorway.

"Hero, you hear anything?" he asked.

"Silent for a moment."

Leon followed suit. Behind him, he heard Bitawwi whispering to one of his captains, but it was not enough noise to disturb them. From the room ahead, they could definitely hear splashing water.

"You hear the water?" Hero asked.

"Is that all you heard?"

"Yes. Did you hear something else?" Hero asked cautiously.

In truth, Leon had heard the whistling again - closer this time, and perhaps a little more menacing, as if it were done with purpose. He did not want to mention that, though.

"No, no, I was just checking," Leon said. "I heard the water too. Follow close."

"Right behind you. Lieutenant Bitawwi-"

"I'm with you," the lieutenant promised, bringing his captains up behind him.

Leon was the first to step over the threshold and was admitted into a room full of mirrors. He could see a dozen Leons, all the same shape and size, all holding up the same lantern and staring at the back of the room. Etched into the far back wall was some sort of niche that served as storage, and Leon could spy three small, black objects sitting there, all in a row.

He knew what those were.

The room was divided into two halves by a narrow, precarious stone walkway - the two halves were filled with shallow pools of dirty water, lit by green flames erupting from giant braziers located in the room's corners. The water splashed playfully up onto the walkway, wetting it, and Leon had to be careful not to slip or fall while walking. He did not want to step into that water or fall into it - as shallow as it looked, he had no idea what kind of nefarious properties it had. It was best not to find out.

"I don't like this," said Captain Johnson, nervously.

"The mirrors," Bitawwi whispered, and Leon could detect fear in his voice. He looked over at the mirrors and saw nothing - he saw himself, and everyone else, but no other presences there.

"What do you see?" Leon asked, more curious than afraid. He turned to the great bear of a man, Arkady Turchynov, who looked unfazed by the incident.

"I see...I see nothing. No, wait, I do see somebody," Turchynov replied. "Lieutenant-"

"There's so many of them, oh fuck!" Bitawwi squalled, coming to a stop. His eyes, teary and burning with fear, were fixated on some distant point along the wall of mirrors. Leon looked again but he could see nothing out of the ordinary; he saw his own reflection, Hero's, the shaking form of Saif Bitawwi, and the rest of the team, but no monsters or madmen present. The lieutenant was having some sort of mental breakdown.

"Get him up," Leon growled.

"Can't you see them?" Bitawwi groaned.

"See who?" asked Leon, becoming impatient. He heard a distant whistling, higher in pitch, and wondered if it was some kind of wind gust or something more sinister.

"The smoke men, the smoke men!" Bitawwi cried, now on his knees. "Do you not see them!? They're all around-"

Bitawwi whipped his head around, but it was clear he saw nothing behind him or beside him. Looking back at the mirror, he seemed absolutely paralyzed with fear, but it was clear that he was seeing some form of projection - there was nothing beside him but Arkady Turchynov, who looked ever so mildly perturbed.

"Nobody but me," Turchynov told him.

"I saw them, I looked in the mirror, and-"

Captain Johnson, too, was glancing into the mirror, straining his eyes to see some kind of reflection. Leon saw nothing, at least not yet...

"I see someone too, distant, but…"

Captain Johnson whipped around and looked over his shoulder. He saw nothing but another mirror, but whatever was in that mirror clearly bothered him, because he quickly turned back around, pale.

"The smoke men," Bitawwi gasped, rising to his feet with the help of Turchynov. "They-"

"Don't look into the mirrors," Leon ordered. "They aren't ordinary."

"Eyes forward, men," Bitawwi ordered, his voice shaky. He had, however, risen without help and regained his status of command. "Follow Lord Walker. This way."

Leon tried hard to keep his eyes focused on the back of the room, but it was difficult to pay attention to his objective. Water lapped at the sides of the causeway and soaked his boots, and he could now see hazy images forming in the warped glass of the mirrors lining the walls. He knew they were trying to play tricks on him - why else would they be presenting terrifying figures to his eyes? He avoided looking for a while, but then out of the corner of his eye he caught the reflection of somebody, or _something_, right behind him.

Out of instinct he turned on his heel and ripped around, ready to strike whatever smoky form was leaning over his shoulder. He only found Herobrine, who looked slightly bemused to see his companion turning on him.

"Hero-"

"Don't look in the mirrors. At all," Hero reminded him sternly. His eyes were set on laser focus, looking dead ahead.

"Right, right. Let's keep moving," Leon said, closing his eyes as he gently, cautiously turned around and continued walking. He knew the shapes would be there again, taunting him in his peripheral vision, but he dared not pay attention to them. There were a few gasps and whispers from behind, indicating that at least one person had looked - as long as they didn't fall into the water, Leon figured they'd be fine. They were only facing illusions in the mirrors, and he had no idea what they might face should they enter the water.

Leon knew that the shadowy figures were drawing closer and multiplying in the reflections, and he began to hear the whistling again, complemented by vile words whispered into his ear.

They were aware of the presence of interlopers. The Embalmers had awoken. Leon knew that, and his stomach began to shrivel and clench as he approached the altar in the wall.

The three Wither skulls, jet black, shiny, and malformed, sat in a row not feet from him. He only had to reach out and touch them, and he could obtain them…

"Hold," Hero ordered.

"Hero?"

"Let me do it," Hero said, striding past Leon. The latter would not object to his demand; he was not eager to discover what might happen should he lay hands on the skulls. He knew it would screw him up badly, but he didn't want to find out _how _badly.

"Don't touch these," Hero warned as he effortlessly lifted all three skulls up and deposited them into a burlap sack. "Even I can feel their power. They will ruin any of you."

"I'd like to keep my memories, thank you," Saif mused dryly, looking rather pale after his earlier experience.

"Don't we all," Hero agreed, turning around to return to the group. He stopped in his tracks moments after turning on his heels. Leon realized something was wrong.

"Hero?"

"Look at the door," said Hero, sounding truly frightened for the first time.

Leon quickly spun around to look behind him. Initially, he thought that it was another illusion, another projection caused by the awful mirrors - but then he realized he wasn't looking at a mirror. He was looking at solid stone, and a smoking, stooped figure wrapped in tattered cloth was standing before it.

"They know we've taken them," Hero said, stepping forward.

"Everyone hold!" Leon commanded, and although he heard swords being unsheathed and safeties being flicked off, nobody fired or charged. Melissa Hathaway, standing uncomfortably close to her lieutenant, withdrew a bottle of fizzy greenish liquid from her knapsack, preparing to chuck it like a baseball.

The Embalmer looked like it was speaking, although not in a language Leon understood. He heard the whispers, and knew that they meant _something_, but he could not decipher them. Out of impatience and the necessity of leadership, he shoved his way through the party and made it to the back of it, placing himself between the Embalmer and the rest of his squad. Hero backed him up, his own gleaming blade unsheathed and prepared to strike.

"Stand aside," Leon ordered, knowing full well he couldn't negotiate his way out of this. "You must _move_."

The Embalmer began speaking in garbled tongue and pointed an accusatory finger at Leon, who instinctively took a step back. He drew his own golden sword, holding it in a defensive position, and prepared to engage.

"I can't understand him," said Hero, one step behind Leon. "It's...archaic language. I don't know what he wants."

"He wants to kill us, I think,"

"Where'd you get that notion?"

The Embalmer became angry and growled at them, looking like he was on the verge of charging. Leon could not see his facial features worth a damn; the priest's face and forehead were concealed by a lazily swirling maelstrom of gray, thick smoke that seemed to emanate directly from his body. The phenomenon made him all the more frightening, and when he finally turned and fled after screeching at them, Leon felt almost relieved.

"Well, damn," Leon swore, watching the Embalmer disappear around the corner and into the darkness.

"We need to go, while we can," Hero urged, already moving.

"He took off, is he scared?"

"Precisely the opposite," Hero replied. "I believe he's going to go grab some friends."

Leon matched Hero's pace as the two dashed out of the room, desperate to leave quickly.

"Everyone follow! Pull back!" Leon shouted, dispensing orders with his most commanding voice.

"Let's move, mercenaries!" Saif Bitawwi echoed, and the loud, rumbling voice of Arkady Turchynov commanded his riflemen to go safeties off and rounds chambered. The entire group thundered out of the reflection room, following Leon and his lamplight.

Leon knew there were holes, but he almost slipped into the first one purely by accident. It was only a stroke of luck that allowed him to leap to the side in time to dodge the fall, which likely would have rendered his ankles or legs broken. He had to be more careful, but he also had to run; now, instead of whispers and whistles, he could hear screeches and shrieks from deeper within the labyrinth. They were being followed.

"Ach, that thing is bringing company!" Bitawwi shouted, pounding after Leon and even outpacing his lover. "Let's move!"

"Riflemen, sharp eyes! Shoot to kill!" Turchynov commanded behind them. Leon was hoping that they could outrun the Embalmers - he did _not _want a squad of aggressive, impetuous Ukrainians with assault rifles firing in quarters this tight. Someone was bound to be hit by the ricochet.

The first Embalmer appeared directly in front of Leon, not ten feet before him. Out of one of the side passages, the smoke-screened creature appeared, holding a wicked scimitar in one hand and a strange, grotesque skull lantern in the other. Without hesitation, Leon charged forward and gutted it, driving the thing up against the wall. It shrieked as it was disemboweled but it did not die immediately; rather, it began to struggle, and it swung the scimitar weakly at Leon. The blade glanced off his pauldrons, but it was enough to bring Hero up to the fight and bring his own blade down into the priest's skull. It stopped struggling after that, and collapsed to the floor, its wreath of smoke vanishing into the air.

When Leon saw that it had no facial features, he had even more incentive to run. Whatever they were facing had ceased to be human long ago.

Gunshots echoed behind them and Leon silently cursed his decision to bring firearms down there. There were shouts and screams and otherworldly shrieks, and he knew they were being pursued. He was considering what alternate options they might have when something grabbed him from above.

He felt himself being lifted into the air and spun around, struggling to strike out. He came face to face-less with an Embalmer hanging above him, its spindly, bony fingers wrapped around his arms; struggling to pull him up into the hole, the creature shrieked at him and tried to claw at his face, its bony, filthy fingers reaching for his eyes. Leon was not about to allow it to blind him and he swung upward, his sword carving through his calf as it flew up to meet the monstrosity's arm. Leon screamed and then the Embalmer screamed, and he was suddenly dropped to the hard rock floor as it retreated. He knew he was bleeding.

"Fucking hell!" he swore, struggling to stand. Hero was already running ahead and engaging another Embalmer as it stepped out to attack him. The two became locked in combat as Saif Bitawwi, closely followed by his attendant vixen, extended a hand to Leon to help him up.

"Mind the hole, lord!"

"I've got a potion for that," announced Melissa. "Let's see, healing potions, extract of glistering melon-"

"Later!" Leon shouted, stepping around the crag in the floor. "Keep going!"

Gunfire continued to echo throughout the corridor as Leon rushed forward, passing Hero as he finished off his opponent. His leg burned and he could feel warm blood running down in rivulets from the self-inflicted wound, but he couldn't allow that to stop him. Any pain would be better than death down here.

He crossed over the threshold that admitted him to the upper portion of B'aileth. This area he was familiar with - this was where Trass had left them, before he turned back and returned to the temple. He knew they weren't far from the great Round Chamber.

"There's a fuck ton of them behind us!" Bitawwi cried, bringing Leon's attention to the rear of the column. There was a significant number of soldiers missing, most of them the swordsmen of Johnson's crew. The ever stalwart captain, whose eyes were fairly clear of ants, was leading the remnants of his ragtag group forward as Turchynov's riflemen provided covering fire. Being at the back of the line, they had taken heavy casualties as the Embalmers picked them off; even from his position up front, Leon could see their shadowy, smoke-wreathed forms darting from wall to wall trying to dodge gunfire and slash at the retreating mercenaries. One of them failed to dodge and received a bullet to the side of the neck, sending it reeling into the wall and down into one of the gaping holes in the floor.

"I can see the chamber up ahead!" Bitawwi shouted, pointing to a weak light two hundred feet ahead of them. The darkness of B'aileth appeared to have lifted a little, as if the Embalmers were weakened and unable to keep the place locked down.

"Keep moving, keep moving!" Leon urged them, shouting over the gunfire.

"Leon, you're hurt bad," Hero noted as he ran.

"I know, I know, I slashed myself," Leon replied, gasping as he became short of breath. "We'll take care of it topside!"

Hero did not insist on anything else. He narrowly dodged an Embalmer dropping from above and attempting to snatch him up, and instead the creature caught Melissa Hathaway, who promptly withdrew a blade from her belt and drove it upward into the thing's face. It screeched and dropped her, relatively unharmed, back into the corridor, where she continued unfazed. Leon, wincing as lances of pain shot up his calf, made a mental note to be _very _careful around Hathaway.

The group spilled into the Round Chamber with their enemies in close pursuit. Running along the circumferential causeway towards freedom, Leon knew he was on a precipice, always close to the edge on that narrow walkway. At least one of the men slipped and fell into the great basin below, landing with a disgusting _thunk _as he hit the wet stone floor. Leon never let his eyes wander away from the exit door, their gateway to freedom, but it didn't matter. The Embalmers were already there.

In a burst of smoke they appeared, four of them, these ones wearing whitewashed masks with only a single hole in them, resembling some kind of mouth. They all had knives gripped in their bony, skinny hands, and they stood side by side, blocking the exit. Leon stopped ten feet from them, unwilling to continue until he knew what he was facing. Everyone else piled in behind him, and for a moment everyone was still and silent. They were trapped between two groups of their opponents, with nowhere to go - stuck on the causeway, with the only possible escape being leaping to their deaths.

"_Return them_," one of the Embalmers in the front spoke, approaching Leon. He knew there was nothing behind that mask, just an endless patch of clammy gray flesh stretched over a malformed skull, but he imagined there were eyes back there studying him, analyzing him. He felt his sweat freeze on his skin, and he held his sword out defensively, wondering if it would strike.

"We need them," said Leon, struggling for words.

"_Return them_," the Embalmer demanded again, more harshly this time. "_We will raise Him. He will protect us."_

"Leon-"

"We need them," Leon reiterated, sweat running into his eyes and stinging his pupils. "We have to defeat-"

"LEON!" Herobrine shouted, raising his own sword again.

"_WAKE HIM!_" the Embalmer roared, and surged forward at Leon. He had two choices; side step the blow, and step right off the edge, or try and parry it. Relying on his reflexes, Leon flipped his golden blade down and, with luck, deflected the blow, parrying the knife to the side. There was now gunfire again behind them, and Leon knew the Embalmers from behind were surging forward to attack. They _had _to get out.

"Leon, let's move!" Hero urged him, pushing forward. The Embalmer was now on the defensive, two of his fellows joining him in the swordfight. The fourth one was doing something rather strange - backing up to the edge of the causeway, standing on the precipice of death, he raised his hands and began speaking, howling strange words into the darkness. He screamed a single word three times, and was rewarded with a hollow, reverberating rumble that filled the entire chamber.

Something _slammed _into the floor of the basin, and he realized the sound was emanating from beneath it. Leon heard something crack down there, and whatever was down there slammed the floor again, even harder.

"_RAISE HIM!" _the Embalmer ordered as his compatriots battled Leon and Hero. They were fierce fighters, and slippery, but in the end they were no match for Leon, who had trained with a blade for decades upon decades. He gutted the first Embalmer and rammed him to knock him down into the basin, and then whirled to turn on the second one as Hero distracted him. The third went down in a hail of gunfire as Arkady Turchynov, Kalash in hands, charged forward and blew the creature away. The second lasted another several moments before it crumpled underneath the furious storm of swords beleaguering it. Dark grey liquid spilled from its slashed throat and shattered sternum as it collapsed. It brought Leon with it, and he felt an icy hot pain in his leg as something split his shin, but he finished it.

The fourth and final one remained in place, his hands cast into the air, singing his archaic chants while the floor shook once more. Leon sensed something was wrong and, before the caller could continue, drove his full weight into its body and sent it tumbling over the edge, down to its death below. It shrieked before it hit the ground with a sickening crunch, and then it was silent. Leon himself would have gone over the edge, if not for Hero's hand on his shoulder. He was pulled back up as the Embalmer fell to its death.

The floor shook one last time, a loud bellow filled Leon's ears, and then it was over.

The Embalmers were retreating, scuttling back into the darkness like insects retreating into their burrow. A few more guns roared, and then silence fell once more inside the Round Chamber - the only sounds were the crackling of the torches and a manic assortment of splashes and gurgles from down below, in the basin. Leon dared not look down to see what they were.

"Let's get the fuck out of here, hunh?" Bitawwi urged, wiping sweat from his brow. He was already making for the stairwell that would take them back topside.

"Are they just leaving?" asked Leon, confused. His leg, injured in both the calf and shin, hurt like hell, and the injury on his shin _burned_. The creature's dagger had dipped into his flesh, and somehow he knew that knife was coated in some sort of poison. They had to go.

"Maybe you killed their leader," said Hero. "Maybe their morale broke. Maybe this is all a trap, hell if I know. But it's not worth staying."

"My men are low on ammo," Tuchynov said. "We have bled much."

"I'm all for getting out of here," Leon agreed, limping after Bitawwi. "But stay frosty."

Swords, axes and staves drawn and readied, the remaining mercenaries followed Leon, who took the lead and limped his way back to the stairs. Every step was painful, but he was not about to stop and rest here. Once they were topside, and out of the damned temple, he could rest.

The trip back up was uneventful compared to their escape. They ascended the stairs, forced the trapdoor up, and reentered the glorious world of light, sound, and warmth. The oppressive humidity of B'aileth was actually welcome for once, and Leon basked in its sticky embrace as he stepped out of the backroom and into the central chamber of the temple.

"Back so soon?" asked Trass pointedly, walking out to greet them. "I'm surprised you made it at all."

"You underestimate us," Bitawwi said with a proud smile. Leon was not so eager to tout his own horn - they had bled heavily and had been through a unique kind of trauma. He would never return there if he could help it.

"Clearly," Trass brushed him off, and turned to Leon. "Did one of them get you?"

"Yeah," Leon affirmed, sighing and grunting as pain shot up his leg again. Trass looked genuinely concerned as Leon pulled his pants leg up and let him look at the wound.

"I can take care of that-"

"I will be able to," Melissa Hathaway coldly cut in. "For free. I can remove the poison with my tools."

"As you wish," said Trass, glancing to Leon. "I do not charge much, though, and you will want that poison removed...quickly."

"We can get back to our camp in good time, thank you," Leon said, wondering if Hathaway really _could _operate efficiently as she said. "I appreciate your help today-"

"I appreciate the fact that you prevented them from waking their little demigod," Trass added, already walking away from them. "I don't much like this city, but it's better than living in a gaping crater."

Leon decided to leave on that note. Between the skulls, his injury, and talk of demigods and demons, he had had enough adventure for one day. His leg was killing him, quite literally.

VVVVV

Sir Stephan was long gone, having departed two days ago by boat to the city-state of Malluthea. From there he would take a long-keeled trade galley down to the coastal paradise of B'aileth, and in that stinking cesspit of a metropolis he would hopefully find a brewer.

Shandra needed poison. She needed potions. She needed _quality_.

The assassin was waiting in the tavern's private room, as promised. This tavern was one of the most popular joints in the city, its bulk adjoining the Keep Square and its interior always thronged with hungry, thirsty customers. Escorted by one of her lesser knights (technically one of Keldon's knights, seeing as he was High Lord of the city), Shandra had made her way through the greasy, dingy common room and found her hireling, waiting her arrival in one of the quiet back rooms.

"You brought me a crossbow, eh? I appreciate the gift," the assassin said, thanking her as she handed the weapon to him.

"It's one of the finest makes available," she said. "Guilder's craft, the best in southern Connaughtsshire. From me to you, and you may use it."

"If it's supposedly the best, I'm going to have some high expectations," he said.

"As will I," said Shandra. "You know your job?"

"Shoot Branch in the head, hide the crossbow, disappear into the tavern? Act casual?" he asked, ensuring he had the details right.

"I trust you'll do that just fine," Shandra smiled. "You know how to get to the top floor?"

"Fucked the tavern keeper's daughter last night, and she told me exactly how to do it. Easy," the assassin mused. Shandra wondered if she could test the veracity of that story, but it didn't really matter. What mattered is that he could get to his position, kill Branch, and hide before chaos broke out. She was counting on him for the next step of her plan.

"As long as you can hit your mark," she reminded him.

"Trust me, I can do it. And with this new crossbow, anything is possible," he joked, turning the weapon over in his hands. It was a beautiful piece, its body inlaid with silver and polished with mercury. The sinew was made from the finest, strongest cord and it had cost a small fortune to purchase, although Shandra had multiple small fortunes in her inventory. She would take it back once she disposed of the unfortunate blademan.

"Tomorrow, two o'clock. Remember that?" she asked.

"I will be there." He nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"You will be paid after Branch is dead and after I take care of the resulting consequences," she said, rising from the table to depart.

"Where will I meet you for payment?"

"Oh, meet me in the Keep. I think you've earned that much," she told him, adding a smile. In truth, he hadn't earned _anything_ besides his payment; bringing him to the Keep would just make it easier for her to kill him.

And since Sir Stephan wasn't there to do it, she would do it herself. She had gotten her hands bloody before, and she was more than willing to do it again. And again.


	16. A Legacy of Smoke

True to her word, Melissa Hathaway was drawing the poison from the wound. It hurt like a bitch, though.

Leon grit his teeth as the woman worked her medical magic, doting on his "shinjury" efficiently but callously. She did not seem to care for his pain, only for finishing the job.

"It's an exotic poison, but I can remove it," she had told him once he had returned to Lieutenant Bitawwi's camp. "I just need time and I need some special ingredients to mix. You'll survive."

Most of the captains and their surviving men were feasting and smoking in the dining tent, celebrating their success and remembering their losses. Twelve men had died down in B'aileth, eight of them swordsmen under the retinue of Captain Johnson - he was particularly bummed by the loss of both of his sergeants.

"How's it going?" Leon asked her, not daring to look at the wound. The last time he had checked it looked like it was rotting.

"Still going," she replied hastily. "You need a bullet to bite?"

"Some anesthesia would be nice," he joked.

"Don't have any of that," she said. "Good luck finding it on the black market, either. Stuff like that will cost you an arm, leg, or a few organs even."

"Ah, lovely," Leon grimaced against the pain. His leg burned and throbbed but his fever had passed and he was sweating less, meaning the antidote was working. Hathaway had been correct after all, although he still did not trust her fully - that would be foolish.

"The fallen hero rises again," Hero crooned as he entered, parting the tent flap. He came to Leon's bedside and extended a hand.

"I never fell completely," Leon argued, smiling at his companion and accepting his handshake offer weakly.

"How are you feeling?" asked Hero, taking a seat in the nearest rickety chair. "Better?"

"Marginally," Leon said, wincing. "Doc's operating-"

"It will be a few hours," Hathaway reported, "but I'll have the full poison neutralized by nightfall. He'll be just fine." She shot Hero a fake smile and he did not return the favor.

"I've been shot, stabbed, smashed, nearly drowned, and I was stung by a giant scorpid down in Archaymyiae," Leon rambled, smiling at Herobrine. "Poison won't get me."

"I'm glad those creeps didn't take you," he said, relieved. "I wouldn't have gone on alone."

"Now, now, let's not dote on that," Leon chastised him. "I'll be good as new tomorrow morning."

"You had better," Saif Bitawwi's voice came. "You haven't paid me in full!" Bedecked in fine dress clothes and with a sash of crimson silk running from shoulder to hip, Bitawwi looked almost regal as he stepped into the tent. Leon was somewhat impressed, although it was limited.

"Lieutenant, I won't be paying you in full for several months, now," Leon informed him. "I've got plans for you."

"Your friend has told me such," Bitawwi said. "He namechecked plenty of places."

"What are you thinking?" Leon asked.

"I'm thinking you've got to raise your price," Bitawwi admitted. "The Manquil is a dangerous place."

"I wouldn't disagree," said Leon.

"I expect to lose many men there. And the Cay?" Bitawwi inquired.

"Hero, you did more reading, right? Where are we going in the Cay?"

"There's an old place called Norzinudh, heard of it?" asked Hero.

"Not at all," said Leon, grimacing again as Hathaway poured another vial of that mercilessly fiery blue liquid into his wound.

"It's definitely an _old_ place, long forgotten by our histories," Hero said. "It's at the very bottom of the Cay, where the jungle meets the mountains, and I don't think any man has stepped foot in there for millennia."

"Ah, so we're going to be pioneers, eh?" Leon wondered aloud.

"In a sense," Hero said. "We'll be unique, for sure."

"Do we know what's in there?" asked Leon.

"No clue." Hero shook his head. "If B'aileth is any indication, we'll certainly find something devious in that ruin trying to kill us."

"What will it be this time? Skeletons? Apparitions? Demons?" Leon asked, half-jokingly. He was also half-serious, unfortunately - after the experience in the Underneath, anything was possible.

"Perhaps all three. Couldn't tell you," Herobrine admitted. "We'll just have to wait and see."

"Sounds lovely," Leon mused dryly.

"The trip across the ocean to the Cay will be expensive," Bitawwi said. "You will have to-"

"We can pay," Herobrine promised. "There is no need to worry about that."

Bitawwi didn't look convinced, but he dropped the subject. Given the amount of gold he had received so far, he had reason to believe that more could be produced on command from Hero's enormous fund.

"We'll discuss our next move in the morning," Leon promised. "We all need a good rest."

"There's a feast on, Lord Walker," said Bitawwi. "You are invited if you'd like." He smiled gamely at him.

"I think I'll just sleep," said Leon. "Probably have nightmares of those faceless bastards, but...I need rest."

"So do we all," the lieutenant heartily agreed. He was already making for the tent door, fully intent on returning to his drunken revelries. "But tonight, we party, if only to celebrate our gains and mourn our losses. We'll drink, too."

"I'll pass. Thanks for the offer, though," Leon said.

"Darius isn't feeling well, either. I think that place got to him, so you won't be the only one," Hero told him.

"Thanks for the consolation prize, friend," Leon joked, smiling weakly.

"I won't partake too much, I imagine. I'm more fond of spending my time alone, really," Hero said, now standing up to exit.

"Take care," Leon called after him as he and Bitawwi departed. It was a shame he couldn't talk to Darius, but that business could wait - if his friend and trustee was ill, he needed rest. Everybody did.

"You're not a party person, Lord Walker?" Melissa Hathaway casually asked once the other two men were gone. Leon felt a little uncomfortable in a tent alone with her, but she hadn't pulled anything over the past four hours. She had had plenty of time then to mess with him or murder him - why would she do it now?

"Oh, I love social interactions as much as the next guy," Leon brushed the question aside, laughing nervously.

"Oh, really? I do like a guy who enjoys a good party," Melissa said, smiling gaily at him. There was some sort of unpleasant desire in that smile that made Leon doubly uncomfortable.

"Ah, well," he said. "I suppose Lieutenant Bitawwi enjoys them more than me, I would say…"

"Oh, he does, dear, he does _indeed_," she confirmed, winking at him.

"Well, then-"

"Does this sting, dear?"

She poured a final vial of the acidic potion into his wound. It _did _sting - like _hell_. He had not been prepared for that, and almost yelped in pain.

"Damn, that BURNS," he grumbled, restraining himself from reaching down to clutch the injury site.

"Ohhh, I figured it would. That's an unfortunate side effect. Would you like me to kiss it and make it feel better?" Melissa asked, not at all joking.

"I...no, thank you, I'm fine," Leon said, feeling quite awkward now. It was apparent she did not feel the same way, and he knew what she was trying to get at. He cursed himself silently for receiving that damn wound in the first place.

"Aw, that's a shame," she said, her tone reverting to that of a _tsk tsk _type manner. "I was looking forward to it."

"I'm sorry, I just...need to rest…"

"Oh, I understand sweetie. Celibate?"

"No, _no_," Leon sputtered. "I need rest. Are we done?"

"I'm all done, sweetie, don't you worry," she promised him. "In a few hours the pain will be all gone and you can rest easy." She began bandaging the wound, shooting him a sly smile as she did. "You sure you don't want to come party?" she asked teasingly, as if that lighthearted tone would make him change his mind.

"Oh, I'm definitely certain," Leon reassured her, desperately wanting her to leave. It seemed as though she was about to give him his wish.

"Oh, what a shame. Well, it'd be your loss," she taunted him, pulling the flaps of her robe aside ever so slightly as to reveal her midriff and breasts. Leon wanted to remind her that he'd already seen her naked, involuntarily at that, but now was not the time. He ignored her and she left with a cheery farewell.

Seductress...and good with a blade, he remembered. He wondered if she _had_, indeed, poisoned him, and the effects just hadn't made themselves obvious yet.

Leon willed himself to fall asleep on that uncomfortable stretcher, his leg bandaged and throbbing. He knew the nightmares would come, but it was almost preferable to spending any more time with that frightening potioneer. _Almost_.

VVVVV

"He has no right to take Stallhart from me!"

Avery Steadwin was fuming as the party mounted again and, their efforts at Castiron Hill having come to naught, began the long trudge back to Stallhart. At least the rain was letting up, marginally.

"He does not," agreed Riley Eston, wiping rainwater from her naked brow. "But he has more soldiers than us. And better equipped ones, at that."

"He will not make good on any attempts at taking the title," Avery tried to reassure himself, struggling with his stirrups.

"Do you really think that?" Eston asked cautiously.

"He will have to fight us. I will not yield to him," Avery said.

"I appreciate the bold claim, Lord Steadwin, but in terms of a fight we are in a losing position," Eston reminded him.

"Aye, that we are," Matt agreed, reflecting on the pitiful state of his little local army. Calling them an "army" would be a disgrace to the art of warfare, really; they were a glorified guard force, outfitted in leather cuirasses and pot helmets, bearing ancient spears and dull axes. They were really only good for fighting brigands and unruly peasants, and not much else.

"We can try again, of course," said Eston.

"I'm inclined not to. He won't talk at all," Matt said, shaking his head. He replaced his visor, and was thankful for it; despite letting up, the rain felt colder now and had more of a bite to it.

"He's staunch, but it's possible to move him a little. We could open lines of communication with another," Eston suggested.

"Who else? Lord Pendleton controls the castle, he's the law of the land," Avery said glumly. "It's his title, and his land."

"He has a council, correct?"

"He does," said Avery.

"I could speak with some of them," Eston said. "He has his own diplomatic attache, likely his steward, and they may speak if requested."

"So, what? We go back tomorrow, white flag waving, and request an audience with his steward?" asked Matt, noting that the idea was somewhat preposterous.

"It's worth a shot, is it not?" Eston said.

"Perhaps. But not tomorrow, for sure," Matt decided.

"I never said it should be tomorrow," said Eston. "That would be far too soon."

"We can discuss it later," Matt promised. The mere existence of Castiron Hill, with its hefty garrison and allegiance to dangerous Thellden, was frightening to him. Dorian Pendleton, too, was an intimidating man.

"My Lord, this is pertinent business," Eston grumpily reminded him.

"I know, I'm well aware," Matt grumbled, gritting his teeth despite himself. He was angry with their failure, angry at himself for not standing up more, and angry even with _Sora_, of all people - for she would miss his birthday.

"What would you have me do?"

"Let's wait a bit, and discuss it perhaps next week. I have other matters to attend to," Matt told her.

"As you wish, my Lord."

Matt had not broached the topic of Ablyn Cullen with her. Being a deserter, and a marked traitor to his people, Cullen would certainly not be kindly received by anyone with even the most meagre ties to Thellden. Pendleton, as a landed lord, would almost certainly have his head taken off for his crimes against the city - it would be very unwise to bring him if they returned to the castle anytime soon.

It was nearly dark by the time they returned to the Stallhart gates. The guard on the gatehouse didn't see them until they were less than twenty feet away from the gate, and they had to wait two minutes while he, rousing himself from his drowsy slumber, parted the rotting, rain-soaked wooden doors to admit them back into the city. Matt made a mental note to see if there was anything Stellmeier could do to improve sentry morale anytime soon - a sleeping guard was a dead guard if caught unawares.

"Do you trust Ablyn Cullen?" asked Avery Steadwin as they boarded and tacked their horses in the guard stables.

"Somewhat," Matt said. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know if I do...why do _you_, then?" Avery asked, less curious and more accusatory.

Matt had no time for Avery's confrontational attitude, but he had to reply in turn. "Why would he betray us? He has nobody to betray us to."

"Has it never occurred to you that he could possibly be tricking us into a trap?" suggested Avery. "Gain our sympathies, get our trust, and then knife us in the back?"

Truthfully, it _had _occurred to Matt, but who would shoot their own employee and dispatch them to some shoddy local town in the middle of nowhere Green Rush to have him build trust with a bunch of peasants and then betray them later? Ablyn Cullen _could _be a double agent, or he could just be a deserter seeking help, and perhaps revenge.

"Consider that. I think he's dangerous," Avery said after Matt passed several seconds without a word.

"I won't pass any kind of judgment at all, I promise. Not yet," Matt said. Avery did not look like he believed him, and once they entered the keep he stormed off to his own quarters, ever so stubborn. Matt ignored his temper and turned to head to his own quarters to rest and sleep after a long day of travel.

Of course, getting rest in the damnable keep was nearly impossible. There was always _someone _who had a problem. Today, it was Ablyn Cullen.

"M'Lord, we had a casualty today," Ablyn reported after greeting his liege. It took Matt a moment to let that fact sink in.

"Mr. Cullen, I thought- wait, a casualty?"

"A death, m'lord," said Ablyn. "One of Delwin Saythe's retinue took a fall while working on his...temple. I attended to it because Sergeant Stellmeier is still sick."

Matt's gut tightened and he listened with growing horror as Ablyn recounted the tale. Delwin Saythe's followers, despite their leader's passivity, were infuriated over the untimely passing of their comrade, and confronted several of the Mormon preacher's devout followers in the market. There was _not _a fight, thankfully, but it could've escalated further, and could still. Matt realized that he had a brewing conflict right in the middle of his own city, Castiron Hill be damned.

"So, they think Coggins' men killed him?" asked Matt, trying to piece the puzzle together. He couldn't deal with this, not now - he had other issues.

"Pushed him to his death or distracted him or something," Ablyn said. "It looked natural to me."

"What I'd give for a forensics investigator, man," Matt grumbled.

"A what?"

"Nevermind," Matt said hastily, remembering that where Ablyn came from, DNA testing and crime scene analysis were nonexistent. The law was feudal. "It's slang. So, how did Coggins take this?"

"Oh, I spoke to him, of course," Ablyn said. "He's cheery as ever, and he actually tried to restrain his followers. They're angry, but he talked them down and I think he prevented a real fight from breaking out."

Matt had to give credit where credit was due; he didn't really like Coggins, but he trusted the man. He was gentle, friendly, and fairly tolerant compared to Saythe - despite being an overtly friendly man, Saythe's preaching was full of fire and brimstone, and his followers were equally fiery. Matt had a certain one in mind as he was mulling the situation over.

"Did the name 'Abu Drusi ar-Raqqawi' come up at all earlier?" asked Matt.

"Maybe, maybe. Sounds familiar, sounds...Earth-like. Is he a close companion to Saythe?"

"He is indeed," Matt replied. His heart sank.

"I saw him. He looked right furious when I spoke to Saythe, and he refused to talk at all. Neither of them spoke to Coggins or any of his followers," Ablyn informed him.

"Ah, just what we need," Matt scoffed. "Lack of diplomacy."

"If you want, my lord, I can talk to them-"

"I appreciate it," said Matt, "but that's my job. I will have to speak with both of them. Pray a fight doesn't break out, or something worse."

"Those two are both zealous men," Ablyn said. "I can tell that Raqqawi doesn't appreciate the preacher intruding on his 'turf', as he might call it."

"What do you think of Saythe?" Matt asked.

Ablyn paused, unsure of how to answer. Matt, too, had been puzzling over Delwin Saythe for some time. Every time he spoke to the man, he was amicable and hardly conflagrational, yet his followers were the exact opposite - they took his preachings literally, and would light a fire under the entire town if they thought it was righteous. That was a dangerous notion to possess.

"I cannot say," Ablyn admitted.

"Me neither. Get some sleep, Mr. Cullen. I appreciate the work you've put in today," Matt thanked him. He was ready for bed, and _not _ready for religious conflict.

"Of course, my lord. You did ask me to help, so here I am…"

Matt pulled off his clothes hastily and lit the fireplace, eager to get some rest. His head was pounding and his ass was aching after a long day of riding, and the disappointment they had faced at Castiron Hill only helped to sully his mood further. He just needed to sleep, and it was a shame Sora wasn't there - the presence of a cuddle buddy could go a long way.

Matt knew something was wrong when the fire seemed dim and distant, even though he had lit it only a few minutes ago. He was blacking out again, but he knew how to control it - breathe easy, hold onto the bed, try not to shake. These blackout sessions were inevitable, and once they came on there was no stopping them. But he could try and control them to some degree, control his descent and his return - when his vision began to fade and the world was swallowed up by the void, he kept breathing easy and hoped it would be quick this time.

He saw a field of ash, with gaunt, dead trees in the distance - the sky was slate gray and lifeless, as dead as the plains around him. He walked towards what looked like military vehicles, parked in a line, and he knew he was somewhere in eastern Connaughtsshire. He was looking through familiar eyes.

"My necromancers are working, but we need more time. A few more weeks, at the least," that familiar, dusky, dry voice said. He knew it was the Enderborn - stuck within the confines of his head, he could only watch and listen as the Enderborn moved with purpose, following some kind of armor-clad army commander.

"We need to move quickly. We can't spare any more time," the commander said.

"I need it," the Enderborn told him. sounding frustrated. "I will not assault the city without enough troops. It will end like last time."

"You said you think there's only one of those lightmen left though, right?" the commander inquired.

"One or two," said the Enderborn. "I cannot be sure. Not many, though."

"I will do what I can when you attack. I can provide weapons fire, but no bombers this time. Thibodeau said otherwise," the commander gently reminded him.

"Very well. That will-"

The Enderborn suddenly fell silent, and Matt felt himself falling. He heard screaming, shrieking of some unholy nature, and he was being tossed back. The blackout was disappearing and the world was returning, and Matt felt a sharp stab of pain as he returned to the real world, evicted once more.

He woke bathed in sweat, and realized he had been _forcefully _evicted this time, as if the Enderborn had realized his presence. At that point in time, he did not fully comprehend how the linkage worked, but he knew somehow he was dipping into the conscience of the Enderborn and seeing the world through _his _eyes. That mere notion terrified him - what _was _it? How did it work? Why was this happening to him just now? Was it relevant, somehow, to the interaction the two had shared a few months ago when Matt had traveled out to destroy the pendant? He had the feeling it was.

Shivering and shaking in fear, Matt reached for his nightstand, where the mostly empty bottle of wine was sitting. Finishing it in a few quick gulps, he knew he needed more; with Sora gone, nobody could really stop him. The alcohol warmed him and calmed him and truthfully, in a situation like this, nothing comforted him more than its soothing embrace.

VVVVV

Sora didn't have any grand plans for her last night in Seattle, really. Something simple, something fun, and something sweet. Despite Yu Jin's position relevant to her, she considered her more of a friend than a serving girl or an employee. She had grown to love the quirkier, more extroverted side of Yu Jin that had made itself evident only upon entering Seattle.

"Brah, you ever had Fireball?" asked Yu Jin excitedly as they walked to her house. Situated in a decent upper-middle class neighborhood, Yu Jin's house was fairly impressive; three stories tall and quite expansive, with a vast front yard and a beautiful miniature garden, it was a wonderful property to behold, and probably far more wonderful to own.

"I never drank much, so no," Sora admitted, although she wasn't a total virgin when it came to alcohol; she'd tried most of the hard liquors. She didn't particularly like any of them.

"Neither did I," said Yu Jin, "but from time to time, I'd sneak into my dad's liquor cabinet. He never locked it, he always trusted me too much."

"Well, aren't you sneaky?" Sora teased as they approached the front lawn of Yu Jins's house.

"Maybe a little." The serving girl smiled coyly.

They fell quiet as they approached the front door, and Yu Jin admitted herself without knocking. Sora had to wait around while she greeted her parents and the flurries of hugs, kisses and "we missed yous" fell upon her. It was a happy sight to see, albeit a little bittersweet - Yu Jin would be leaving once more very soon, and for who knew how long. Sora knew that feeling, knowing full well her own parents would be sorely disappointed with her decision to return.

"They're alright with you staying the night. I asked ahead of time," said Yu Jin after breaking with her parents.

"Smart planner, hunh?"

"Just be quiet after midnight and don't eat all the cookies, and we'll be good," she asked. Sora promised to abide by the rules with a broad smile, and the two raced up to Yu Jin's room to settle in for their last night in the modern world.

"I'm gonna miss this bed," Yu Jin sighed, rolling over as she flopped down on her mattress.

"I'm gonna miss a lot of things," said Sora. "Dude, I didn't realize how much I missed this world. It's crazy."

"I hear you," Yu Jin said. "I've seen a lot of things on Facebook, checked it on the bus. We've lost several people from school. I've lost a few friends."

"It's a shame, really," Sora mused mournfully. "I always thought it was a game. You remember the original?"

"Kind of. I never really played video games, some of my friends did though-"

"It was just that," Sora said. "A game. This is different; it's so mind-blowing, really. To think that real people went into this _game _and never came back out."

"It's a harsh reality, yeah," Yu Jin agreed solemnly, and the two of them silently agreed not to continue dwelling on such a topic. "Hey, remember this?"

She extracted something from underneath her bed. It was their last yearbook - junior year's, to be precise. Both seniors, they were just now realizing that they would soon be leaving the world of high school behind, and it struck a nostalgic chord in Sora's heart, seeing that yearbook.

"I do," Sora said, looking at the shimmery, laminated cover of her high school memories. "Good times, hunh?"

"I haven't looked through it in a while," Yu Jin said. "There's a lot of boys…"

"God, you perv," Sora chastised her jokingly. "Seriously?"

"You enjoy it too, don't lie!" Yu Jin laughed, striking the book open. "Especially football boys!"

"Nah, I don't really like football boys. Too stuck-up. You know Chandler?" Sora asked.

"Wilhelm?"

"Yeah, that's his last name. He always had it out for me, wanted to get me at his parties for who knows what reason. Back in sophomore year he'd call me every weekend to invite me." Sora rolled her eyes as she remembered the constant flood of texts and messages the fuckboy kept sending her.

"Creep," Yu Jin snorted, clearly disgusted.

"Probably. I don't really like football boys, though," Sora said.

"Hockey boys?"

"Yu Jin, please," Sora grumbled, faking outrage. "I have _standards_."

"_You _wouldn't fit in in Vancouver, that's for sure," Yu Jin mused.

"There were a couple of cute guys that I remember. I don't think we had the same classes?"

"Maybe one, but we were in different home rooms, for sure." Yu Jin flipped through the yearbook.

"Hunh, well, there goes any shared identity," Sora grumbled, wondering how she had never met Yu Jin before. Same high school, yes - but the school _was _big.

"That's why I was asking about sports teams. Everyone knows the athletes," said Yu Jin.

"Very true," Sora admitted. That was actually not really true - she didn't know the athletes. Never bothered.

"I've always kind of wanted to date one of them," Yu Jin said, now staring quite fixedly at one of the hockey players. "They're so…"

"Don't say dreamy-"

"_Dreeeeamy_." Yu Jin stuck her tongue out at Sora for dramatic effect. "Don't lie, now."

"They're attractive, sure, but I think dating someone based on a single value or trait is silly," Sora said. It was obvious, and Sora didn't mean to be pedantic or anything - she just wasn't totally approving of Yu Jin's attitude towards the topic. She seemed quite...Sora wasn't sure how to put it. Naive, maybe?

"Oh, I would agree. I don't think it was anything more than a fantasy of mine," Yu Jin admitted, although she sounded a little sad to say that. "It was just...ya know, desire."

"I understand," said Sora. "We all have our own."

They flipped through the yearbook together, silently poring over the various vapid pieces of memorabilia they considered to be part of "nostalgia". In a sense, it was - even though it was recent, it served as some sort of comfort object to both of them, as they would soon be leaving it all behind for the grander world of university or employment.

"You know, I've never had a boyfriend!" Yu Jin ejected loudly out of the blue, interrupting the pleasant silence. "That's...hmm. That's kind of sad, come to think of it."

"Awww, darling," Sora chided her, putting a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Now, don't get sad!"

"Ohh, I won't. There's no point in that," Yu Jin promised hastily. "Hey, I think my parents are going to bed soon? Want me to get the drinks?"

"I won't drink much," Sora warned, but she somewhat reluctantly agreed. She wanted a little, even if it was just to loosen her up and help her sleep better. She didn't mind the taste of some brands, as long as they were mixed.

"Soda, too," Sora called after her, as she disappeared downstairs. She wondered whether this was a good idea or not - her experience with alcohol was, well..._limited_.

Yu Jin returned with a somewhat intimidating repertoire of booze and soft drinks, barely managing to carry them into the room. The door shut and locked behind her, and they were left to solitude.

"Fireball might be a bit harsh for a fragile little flower like you," Yu Jin warned as Sora studied the bottle with intense curiosity.

"Is that a _challenge_?" Sora asked, squinting threateningly.

"Maybe," Yu Jin said. "Just don't take it straight, okay?"

"You're not my mom," Sora argued, rolling her eyes fiercely. "I'll do what I _want_."

"Alright, it's on you then. Don't complain to me if it burns," Yu Jin said, letting her take the whiskey bottle. "I used to drink a lot with my friend Carla before she went all batshit on me."

"What happened?"

"Long story. We, uh...we had a rough history, and, well, things just went bottoms-up. She got a girlfriend, there was a bunch of drama, and long story short we hate each other now!"

"Oh, that's absolutely lovely," Sora said. "So, how did that happen _exactly_?"

"Oh, I'd rather not discuss it," Yu Jin hastily added. "Sorry for bringing it up, er, it's just a little touchy."

"No problem. Pour?" Sora asked, and Yu Jin did as bid. They both drank - one shot, then another, and then a third. Sora had no idea how much that was, but she figured it wasn't _too _bad; such a small amount of liquid couldn't do much to anybody, right?

"How's Matt doing?" Yu Jin asked, after they had taken their shots, turned a desk light on, and relaxed. The sun had set now and the room was dim, save for the small pool of light in the corner near Yu Jin's nightstand.

"Aw, did you have to ask that?" Sora said, half jokingly.

"No offe-"

"I was joking, don't worry," Sora said quickly. "I can confide in you. He's...well, he's having a rough time, bless his heart."

"I know he's taken on a heavy role. I see him troubled, quite often...he drinks, too."

"A lot," Sora admitted. "I don't know how he's getting along without me, but it's been several days, maybe a week or two, since I left. He might have regressed."

"You think?"

"Why would he improve? He was relying on me a lot for stress relief, and with me gone, I don't see how he can possibly break away," Sora explained, feeling something burning in her stomach. She knew what it was.

"Maybe. I would be optimistic about it," Yu Jin said, pausing halfway through her sentence. "And, er, give him the benefit of the doubt?"

"That seems difficult," Sora said. "I just want him to be healthy. That's all. Healthy and happy."

"Hah, that's a good thing to shoot for," Yu Jin said, her eyes lighting up more than usual. "You sound like you're a good girlfriend!"

"Really?"

"A guy wants a girl who can give him a good time, yes," Yu Jin said, slurring ever so slightly. Her shaky hands poured out another half shot, and she deposited it into her throat without second thought. "_But_! Most guys also want a girl they can rely on, and a girl they can entrust their emotions to."

"True, true," Sora agreed. Sora had to consider that notion briefly, while Yu Jin poured herself another half shot. Back during the first semester of senior year, Sora had known Matt as a jokester and comedian, someone who would be the epitome of the "class clown". Now that they were in a quasi-relationship, however, he had changed his attitude towards her; he was more up-front, caring, emotional, and perhaps even _vulnerable_, although that word implied weakness. There was a ring of truth to Yu Jin's words, however slurred they might be.

"I actually appreciate that," Sora said. "If it's true, that is."

"What now?" Yu Jin asked, now reclining against her own bed. She was clearly under the influence, her pupils widening and her body relaxing. That was good, right?

"That...Matt is comfortable enough around me to let his emotions run normal," Sora explained. "Like...does that make sense?"

"Er, kind of?" Yu Jin said. "I mean, most guys, they ain't like that. They don't talk about how they _feel_, right?"

"Yeah, I know, I know. He seemed like most guys, but...I don't love most guys. I love _him_."

"Well, he seems like he's more caring and heartfelt than most guys," Yu Jin said. "I, uh, don't really know him that well, but-"  
"Yeah, you're right," Sora said. "He is. I can confirm that, although...well, he's not perfect."

"Heh, nobody's perfect," Yu Jin joked. "Have you two...done anything yet?"

"Oh, so petty," Sora chastised her lightly. She took another half shot before responding in turn, quite slurred now.

"Ah, pleeeease. I'm just curious. You know, you never mentioned that, so I didn't think…"

"Because that's a much more personal thing!" Sora reminded her. "But, eh, it's not like it's a big deal. It's just a little more _touchy_, y'know?"

"No offense, really, I was just-"

"Aw, it's no harm, sweetie," Sora reassured her, gently tapping her on the forearm. "Don't worry too much about it. All you need to know is that Matt and I are doing _fiiiiiiiiiiiiine_."

She punctuated that sentence with a suggestive wink, giving Yu Jin everything she needed to know. The latter began giggling uncontrollably, knowing full well what Sora was implying.

"Did you two actually...fuck?"

"Oh, sweetie, not _that _far," said Sora, feigning shock. "Now that's jumping to conclusions!"

"You implied-"

"I tried not to imply anything. I want it left up to your imagination," Sora winked again. She knew it probably looked goofy.

"How _ruuuuude_," Yu Jin grumbled. "Don't keep secrets from me, now!"

"Ugh, you don't give up, do you?" Sora said, smiling gaily at her. "If you must know…"

Sora bared all of her dirty secrets to Yu Jin - of which there were very few. The girl seemed rather disappointed at the lack of sexual antics, but was not surprised that Matt had tried to find pornography before, and had utterly failed.

"I don't think he realizes that they didn't have pictures in the middle ages," Sora said. "So why would a middle aged village have nudes?"

"Wow, thirsty boy," Yu Jin groaned. "Is he annoying?"

"He doesn't ask me much, actually," Sora told her. "He seems to be trying to de-stress with alcohol more than sex, really. Personally, I'd prefer the latter…"

"Yeah, me too. I guess," said Yu Jin.

"Hey, we'll get there. I'm trying to work with him. He's a stubborn little bitch," Sora said with a devious little cackle. It was TRUE, that was Matt's personality sometimes.

"Ha, I've noticed!" Yu Jin said. "You oughta teach him a lesson."

"Aw, now, let's not be cruel," Sora chastised her. "But you have a fair point…"

"Hey, if you can convince him to be like that...a boy can be submissive, you know!"

"Very true, very trueeee," Sora agreed. Normally when sober, she would be rather perturbed by this kind of conversation, even with someone like Yu Jin. Now, however, she could give a shit less - she was having fun.

"Is that his thing, though?" Yu Jin asked.

"I never actually asked. I should probably do that," Sora said.

"Heh, maybe it'll get him out of his little rut. Spice up his life, you know? He could use something like that." Yu Jin took another shot, and choked it down barely; looking at the bottle, which was now half-empty, she decided she'd had enough. She was slurring heavily now, and her vision was a little fuzzy. Sora's was, too.

"He seems pretty vanilla, but ya know...I never did ask him," Sora admitted. She now regretted that, although it may not be the proper time yet. They weren't even official, really, and Matt was too stressed out to commit, probably.

"Oh, well, we should fix that!" Yu Jin suggested eagerly.

"Heh, you want me to just approach and be like...uh, 'Yo, you wanna do something kinky?'"

The ridiculousness of that notion was enough to make both of them sputter with laughter. Sora would drink to that, but she had had enough - she was already regretting her most recent shot. It was a little _too _much.

"Hey, you never know," Yu Jin said. "A man has needs, a man has desires."

"Yeah, and so does a woman," Sora reminded her. "Chiefly, _moi_."

"Hey, don't forget me," said Yu Jin.

"Oh, dear, I didn't," Sora promised her, wrapping a friendly arm around her shoulders. "In fact, you haven't told _me _a lot about yourself. Any boys you're interested in?"

"Eh, not really," Yu Jin replied. "I prefer my boys literate and properly clothed, thank you."

"Aw, Stallhart's dating scene isn't _that _bad," said Sora, aghast.

"Not if you're into radish farmers or crazy priests."

"Yeah, well, some people have their fetishes," exclaimed Sora. "Don't knock it before you try it!" They were being a little loud, she knew, but her parents didn't seem to mind. Either that, or they were dead asleep.

"I'm serious, though-"

"I'm not super interested in anything right now. I'd rather wait until the whole war thing blows over," Yu Jin admitted, resting her head gently on Sora's receptive shoulder. "And honestly, I'm more intrigued by people back at school. All the hot guys there? Holy fuck."

"Yeahhhhh, I feel you." Sora rested her head back on the mattress. It was spinning and driving her crazy. "God, I missed so many opportunities."

"Hey, at least you're taken! Think of it that way. Optimism!" Yu Jin exclaimed, a little more loudly than she should have.

"I miss experimenting, though. You know how many opportunities I might be missing out on?"

"No regrets, love, no regrets," said Yu Jin. "It's better to be secure than insecure, right?"

Sora made a mental note that that sounded stupid, but she said nothing else of it. She didn't want to hurt Yu Jin's feelings, and she was struggling hard enough as is to keep herself from saying possibly more incriminating things. She had to retain some mote of self-control.

"He's a good boyfriend. I think you're right," Sora said. "I just wish...I had more time to experiment. You feel me?"

"Kinda do, actually," Yu Jin said, chuckling nervously. "It's, ah, a funny story!"

"Is it a long one, too?" Sora asked.

"Sora, I'm bi."

Sora, momentarily, was at a loss for words. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to dispel the effects of the alcohol so she could speak clearly. "Well...well, good for you!" It was a dumb thing to say, but Yu Jin smiled anyway.

She lazily rolled over, closer to Sora. "I just wanted you to know that. Sorry if it was...so sudden!"

"Oh, no, it's fine," Sora reassured her, feeling confused but also feeling...something else? Something odd. She wasn't sure if she was comfortable going in this direction, with Yu Jin so close to her, but the alcohol said otherwise.

"I haven't told that to many people," Yu Jin said, squeezing her arm a little more tightly. "It's like my little secret."

"Oh, I understand. I've...you know, all girls have similar feelings," Sora reassured her. She perked up a little.

"You too?" she asked, strangely curious.

"Oh, well, I suppose," Sora said. "I don't remember specifically-"

"Are you bi, or just...curious?"

"I don't know," Sora admitted. "Haven't figured that out."

Yu Jin's coy smile was telling. She was interested in this, and Sora couldn't make it click as to _why _this topic became so interesting to her. Sure, their previous discussion about boys and sex had been of great interest, but now she was feeling uncomfortable. What should she do? Or say, rather?

"Would you like to?" asked Yu Jin, dangerously close. Sora could smell the alcohol on her breath, harsh and biting. That didn't prevent her from closing in.

Their kiss was brief, but meaningful. As they broke it off, the lyrics of that decade-old pop song ran through Sora's head, piercingly annoying and repeating one single line - _I kissed a girl_!

"Sora?" stammered Yu Jin as they broke away.

"I wanted to see what it was like." Sora found her hands on the girl's shoulders. "And, well, you weren't too subtle…"

"I know," she said. "I, uh, just wanted...to-"

"Sweetie, don't apologize. It was...interesting!" Sora decided. Part of her brain was telling her she had just sinned horrifically and should feel ashamed. The other half told her she had just made the best decision of her life. Pragmatism be damned, she liked what she had felt.

"Oh, well, I'm glad you enjoyed it, but...what about Matt?" Yu Jin asked, slightly concerned now.

Sora had to ponder that for a moment. Matt, Matt, _Matt_...the cute boy who was currently stuck in another goddamn world, who didn't have to know a thing about her little experimentation? Ah, yes. He was too far away - he didn't have to know.

"Oh, fuck him," Sora decided flippantly. "It's just for fun, right?"

"Right."

They kissed again, harder this time and _far _more passionate. Sora's brain hardly considered any potential consequences of this action; she was more interested in whatever current pleasures she could milk from her best friend, possible fallout be damned.

"Sora, what about Matt?" Yu Jin asked, trying to break away from the embrace.

"Was I not clear?" Sora asked. She knew this was questionable, but she didn't really _care_. She was into it, now.

"Oh, Sora," she sighed. "I want this, but I...oh, hell."

Sora was now beyond the point of no return. What had been uncomfortable and questionable before was now perfectly acceptable, as if some switch had been flicked inside of her. She carried Yu Jin up and onto the bed, performing a rather awkward straddling that was hindered by the alcohol.

"Sora, are you...what are you doing?" Yu Jin asked, looking a little uncomfortable but simultaneously intrigued.

"Well, I'm experimenting," Sora told her, recalling their previous conversation. "Is that bad?"

"Mmm, not necessarily...but Matt-"

"Sweetie, Matt doesn't have to know," Sora promised. "It's our thing, okay?"

"Kiss me again."

Sora obliged her, more aggressively this time.

She fought a mental battle at the same time she made out with Yu Jin. Was this wrong? Was she morally obligated to remain loyal to Matt, even if this was just, as she had put it, _experimenting_? Was it okay to hide something like this from him? Would he be angry, or would he just blow it off?

So many answers, and every one of them hindered by alcohol. She decided consequences be damned; she would worry about that in the morning.

For now, she continued to passionately kiss her best friend, letting herself relax as she felt a hand slip up her shirt and undo the straps of her bra.

VVVVV

It was only their third patrol, and already there was trouble.

Lyonel Cormac professed to have never been inside of any kind of gasoline-fueled vehicle; he rode a fast horse once, but it didn't come close to the speed or power of the ITV he was riding in. It was a small thing, basically a buggy with a roll cage and heavy machine gun mounted on the back end, but it drove fast and whipped across the rolling plains of the Green Rush with great urgency. On horseback, they would not have reached the village in time.

"Scouts reported gunshots from this little hick town," Dr. Caldwell informed the four-man team in the buggy as they raced across the flatlands. "One of our ATVs radioed us about trouble in the village of, uh...Plotch... about ten minutes ago. We're lucky we were decamped so close."

"What do you make of it?" Lyonel asked, shouting above the furious howl of the wind as they whipped through fields of sawgrass at seventy miles an hour.

"If it's gunfire, then there's a problem. They could've heard fireworks, or a building collapse, but a gunshot is pretty distinct. We may have some trouble on our hands."

"Mercenaries?" Lyonel presumed.

"Maybe. Step on it, we need to go," Caldwell ordered, and the ITV driver pushed down on the accelerator pedal even harder. Behind them, four other ITVs roared along, followed by a large supply truck struggling to keep pace with them. On the flanks, four ATVs with two riders apiece on them rode parallel to the convoy. Sir Lyonel recognized this kind of travel formation from his cavalry training - despite the replacement of horses with engines, the tactics were the same.

Taking a look at the map, Lyonel saw the town of "Plotch", little more than a tiny dot on the vast green landscape of the Rush. In the past week, they had traveled about a hundred miles from the Ditch, striking out southeast and checking in on the local villages and keeps they passed. A few of the feudal lords and town mayors had not appreciated the presence of frighteningly advanced technology and firearms, but many had received the presence of Dr. Caldwell's force with joy and celebration. Because they were flying the banners of the Alliance and the Ditch from their supply trucks, the convoy had been welcomed with open arms into nearly all of the villages they had passed.

Lyonel remembered the town of Baxter fondly - upon seeing the colors of Lord Walker flapping in the wind as the trucks drove up to the city gates, half of the population of the town had poured out into the farms and fields surrounding Baxter to welcome the newcomers. The mayor of the town, a portly old samaritan, had even turned over Baxter's secret cache of ammunition - although it amounted to less than a hundred rounds, Lyonel knew that the gesture was incredibly significant. Ammunition was rare in Connaughtsshire, due to the prohibition and the efforts of the Regulators to shut the black market down, and Lyonel knew the mayor was truly grateful for their presence if he voided the town's most prized possessions.

Their convoy stopped about a mile outside of Plotch, which was visible from the hilltop they came to a halt on. Stepping out of the vehicle and unslinging his rifle, Lyonel could see smoke rising from the small cluster of huts and hovels, but no other signs of trouble - no fires, no gunfire, no collapsed buildings. Everything looked peaceful.

"Devon, what's your status, over?" asked Caldwell, radioing the local scout patrol. The two ATVs had been probing the area around Plotch when they had reported trouble, and were likely racing to the convoy's location to back them up. The radio crackled back and some muddled words came through - Lyonel failed to understand how the device worked, but he didn't question it. He didn't ask many questions at all, preferring to remain silent and do what he was told. Caldwell was a bit of an intimidating man, both physically and mentally, and was somebody Lyonel did not want to mess with.

"Devon says there's strangers in the village. Armed men, he's not sure if they have transports," Caldwell reported as the radio crackled off.

"Did he get a glimpse of their badges? Banners? Anything?" asked the jeep gunner.

"Nothing distinct. They've got rifles, though. Have our riflemen deploy and set up the KONKURS battery," Caldwell ordered, and the men in his ITV went to work. Two other ITVs pulled up and deployed their squads of riflemen, who all took up kneeling positions on the hill overlooking Plotch.

Lyonel did the same, miming the riflemen who raised their AKs and AKMs and knelt on the knoll, aiming down at the placid village. Lyonel's rifle felt bulky and foreign, as he had only fired it a few times and was unused to the noise and recoil of the weapon. He _knew _what guns were - although peasants in Connaughtsshire were almost completely ignorant of the world beyond their petite villages, noblemen and knights were relatively more informed - but he had never held one or, gods help him, fired one. Dr. Caldwell's crash course had done some good for him, but he still couldn't get over the noise and the kick. He was secretly hoping tonight's check-up on little Plotch would go smoothly, and they would have no fighting to do.

His hopes were shattered as Caldwell shouted more orders and the trucks came rumbling up behind the little arrangement of transport jeeps.

The first few bullets sang through the air above their heads, and were followed by several more much closer to them, sailing right above them.

"Down, down, everyone down!" shouted Lyonel, parroting what he had been trained to say. The first day he had held a rifle and had entered Caldwell's instruction course, he had been told what to do if bullet fire comes in - duck and cover. Arrows were sluggish and easy to ignore, comparatively; a bullet would kill you before you even heard the gun's report.

Every rifleman on the hill ducked down and went prone as more rounds filled the air, the night now erupting with a cacophony of crackling gunfire. It was almost certainly coming from Plotch down below; somebody had seen Caldwell's vehicles pull up, and did not want their operation to be interrupted. Lyonel knew they had to be mercenaries of some sort; no brigands carried guns in Connaughtsshire, and a knight would not use a gun, right?

He reflected on the irony of that final thought as the KONKURS system whistled and roared. The whistle was the soft, sing-songy tune of the guidance wire unspooling; the roar was the rocket leaving its station and erupting into the night, launching itself down towards poor Plotch.

"Open fire on them, goddamnit! And stay down!" shouted Caldwell, throwing himself down to the sawgrass as more bullets came in. Lyonel, who had been frozen and reflecting on his various thoughts, now realized he had to kick himself into action. Several of the riflemen propped their weapons up and fired down into the village, squeezing off one shot at a time. It was difficult for Lyonel to fire more than one shot at a time - squeezing the trigger, he felt the rifle's barrel explode in a burst of smoke and energy, and felt the butt of it punch him in the shoulder. It felt cathartic, but frightening at the same time, and he had to repress any fear to make himself take the next shot. He wasn't aiming at anything in particular; he didn't _see _anything, not yet. He looked through his irons and found a particularly enticing hovel which looked rather sinister; deciding this would be his target, he steadied his shaking hands and pulled the trigger again.

And again. And again. And again. And then the KONKURS roared again, followed by the dull, earsplitting thumping of the ITV's heavy machine gun. Caldwell was clearly going for fire superiority.

"Pour it on them!" someone else shouted, exhorting their company to keep up the volley.

Caldwell fired his own rifle wildly. "Sir Lyonel, up and at em! Wyatt, D'Jones, on him!"

"Sir!?" Lyonel replied, rising despite the hail of gunfire. Behind him, two soldiers in light camo armor dashed to his side, rifles fully loaded and ready.

"Take one of the ITVs in! We'll get the ATVs in, too!" cried Caldwell. "Fire control, go!"

The heavy machine guns continued roaring as Lyonel realized what he was being told to do. Get in the vehicles, and go down into the village - something that seemed absolutely ludicrous, of course, but he could not defy an order. The man named Vonderrit D'Jones, a wiry gunner, was already hopping into one of the ITVs and pulling himself into the gunnery suite.

"Hop in, Captain Chivalry! We aren't wasting any time!" shouted Vonderrit, and Sir Lyonel did not hesitate. He leapt into the passenger seat of the ITV as Symon Wyatt, the muscular, baritone rifleman, hopped into the driver's seat and slammed his foot on the gas pedal. Two ATVs flanked them as they descended rapidly and began to close the mile-long distance between their fire position and the village.

"Corporal, any sign of hostiles?" Wyatt shouted over the rush of air as they parted the tall grass at seventy miles an hour.

"Can't see anyone!" yelled Vonderitt. "No muzzle flashes, but gunfire's happening for sure!" He craned his neck to get a better view above the vehicle's roll cage.

"Alright, we're going in hot. Stick to cover, and stick together, damnit!" Symon ordered, closing the final few hundred feet. Lyonel swore he heard a bullet narrowly miss their vehicle as they arrived at the outskirts of the town and disembarked right behind the village's butcher shop. The ATVs followed suit, unloading both their drivers and their passengers - one rider per ATV, armed only with an SMG and light armor. They took no fire as they pulled up.

Far away, back on the hilltop, the Konkurs roared, and Lyonel could see the tiny flickering light of its projectile sailing through the clear night air in an oddly erratic pattern. Gathered behind the butcher's shack, the crew waited until it impacted, hitting something big and creating a significant orange fireball, before they moved in.

"Any civilians here, sergeant?" asked Vonderrit.

"Didn't think about no fucking civilians," grumbled Symon regretfully. "They'll be scared shitless. Doc said that our first priority is engaging hostiles. Clear them first, but watch your fire."

"I've got nothing here," an ATV driver reported, having successfully peeked around the corner. "Can't see shit."

"Fucking ace. We've got bodies. Check it," Symon said. He pointed to a vague pile of shapes piled by a nearby hovel that were clearly bodies - seven or eight, at least. Definitely dead, and freshly so.

"Oh, we've got ourselves some executioners," Vonderrit said, looking rather perturbed. Symon, unfazed, took the lead, and all seven of them piled up to the side of the hovel, safeties off and weapons primed.

Their first glimpse of the interlopers was rather unimpressive. Standing in position, hunkered down behind a sturdy wooden wall, Lyonel was the first to see them - two, then three humans wearing what looked like business casual mixed with combat armor, bearing assault rifles and pump-action shotguns. They looked like regular people, albeit armed, and Lyonel had been expecting something far more nefarious. This they could take.

When two of them turned into a house and began firing, Vonderrit gave the signal for the team to engage. The four scouts, armed only with SMGs, dashed to a new position as Symon and Lyonel proffered covering fire. Each of them targeted the same shotgun-bearing individual, flooring him and winging his comrade before they received return fire.

Lyonel could smell something burning from the other side of the village, and it wasn't wood or grass. It smelled sickly and acrid.

"Clear that house! Let's get them out of there!" Symon ordered. He pointed to other houses as well, and Lyonel could now see more figures moving in the darkness, all well-armed. They looked to be either taking firing positions or dragging others out of houses - those who were being dragged were dressed in tabards, nightclothes or simple tunics and underpants, hardly items befitting an armed fighting force. These were their civilians.

"Sergeant, they're taking civilians!" Lyonel shouted, withdrawing into cover as two bullets roared past him. Their position was now given away and they were taking fire. Symon peered around the corner, observed the situation as it stood, and then retreated back to cover.

"Goddamnit, goddamnit, hold your fire! Hold your fire, new positions!" he shouted, signaling to the scouts to move. Emerging from the house, they immediately snapped to their new orders and disappeared into the darkness, flying behind houses as they scrambled to flank the enemy. There were at least four men firing at them, and one bullet embedded itself into the wood a little too close to Lyonel's cheek. A mile away, the KONKURS belched again, signaling incoming doom.

"They look like they're pulling back, but they're taking people with them," Symon shouted, analysing their situation. "Are they kidnappers?"

"Slave traders?" Lyonel guessed.

"Same fucking difference," Symon said, implying agreement. "Wait for the flank, and then move in. We need to move _quickly_. Watch your fire if you pull that trigger, _m'lord_."

Lyonel was about to correct him on his improper usage of feudal nomenclature and honorary titles, but somebody shouted and more gunfire erupted and he knew that was his cue. He would have to wait to educate these foreigners about feudal culture.

Lyonel was the one to provide cover fire as Symon moved closer, leaping behind a bale of hay. Lyonel did not aim at anybody in particular, but he managed to hit _someone_; one of the armed men, dressed in a fine white shirt with Kevlar overtop, shuddered and collapsed onto the ground, his legs writhing uncontrollably. Several puffs of dust erupted around him and he fell still after that.

They seemed to be rushing to retreat. Innocent villagers, shouting and crying above the din of gunfire, were being herded back by retreating interlopers, who fired pot shots at the flankers as well as the distant combat team up on the knoll. On the other side of Plotch, Lyonel could see some vehicle on fire - what was called a "pick-em-up truck", by the looks of it - and knew that these men had not traveled on foot. They would have more.

"They're trying to retreat with the locals! Orders, sir!?"

"Damnit, where's the Doc?" Symon shouted, changing his mags. "Hold your fire if there's civilians! No collateral damage!"

"They're moving back to trucks, sir! They're going to get away!"

Symon swore and began opening fire, targeting two intruders who were trying to held an injured comrade. Symon took down one of them but the other, blessed by luck, escaped unscathed and darted behind the village's windmill, where he was safe. He had likely run away by the time Lyonel, Symon and Vonderrit had linked up with the scouts again and pressed into the center of the village.

At the southern edge of Plotch, four trucks and one very large armored van were revving up. Villagers, half-naked and in disarray, were being loaded into the van or into the empty truck beds as the intruders prepared to flee. Several of them hopped onto personal offroad motorcycles and were already taking off, disappearing into the tall grass.

"Hold your fire, hold your fire!" Symon roared, but a few of the fighters turned to shoot at Symon and Vonderrit, and they were forced to return their own. Lyonel saw his first target go down; the bandit was hunkered down by the truck but had his leg exposed, and Lyonel popped off a lucky round that floored him. Three more had been shot dead before the trucks took off, hauling their prey off with them. The gunfire died as the vehicles roared off into the distance, vanishing into the darkness after less than a mile. By the time the other ITVs and convoy vehicles arrived at the remains of Plotch, their enemy was long gone.

"Casualties?" Liam asked when he approached the group. His men were searching what remained of the torched village, its embers still smouldering.

"Nobody's hurt, or killed. We took them by surprise," Symon told him.

"How many did you kill?"

"About a dozen, give or take. We haven't counted the bodies yet, or taken a good look at them," Symon reported. As Liam walked off to examine the remains of the quartermaster's office, which would contain any records and money the town had, Symon kicked one of the dead interlopers, rolling him over onto his back. Despite his shirt and tac vest being muddied and bloodied, he hardly looked like a ragtag guerilla or insurgent - he was well-armed and had about $500 in cash in his wallet when Vonderrit pulled it out and rifled through it. He pocketed the cash quickly, and handed the wallet over to Symon.

"Doc's gonna want to take a look at this. This is part of the reason why he's here," Symon said.

"Well, he could make a killing off of these guys, if all their wallets are as stuffed as this one," Vonderrit chuckled.

"Oh, he's gonna want to take a look at _these_," Symon reiterated, pulling out a Standardized Energy identification card from the dead fighter's wallet. "This is gonna give him a fucking heart attack."


End file.
